Legacy of Fire: Book Two: The Heartless Dead
by Meloriel
Summary: When Bree stumbles across a series of mysterious corpses she returns to Kelmarane for answers. But with the death toll rising and a new menace to deal with things quickly get complicated. Can Bree put aside her hatred of the gnolls in time to save the Pale Mountain region from this new threat, or does her holy vendetta hold more sway over her heart? (Pathfinder)
1. Chapter 1: The End of the Circle

Disclaimer and Copyright Information

What follows is part two of a novelization of the Legacy of Fire Adventure Path published by Paizo for the Pathfinder RPG as it occurred for my players. I highly recommend by starting with Book One: Howl of the Carrion King (available under my listed stories) but it can be read on its own. Although the over arcing plot line is true to the published adventures this novel takes a lot of creative liberties in order to create a novel from a d20 campaign. Place names, religions, the world, and many characters are created by Paizo, but much of their reactions and personalities are of my own devising. Many of the side characters were created by me and the main 'heroes' by my players.

This book specifically, _The Heartless Dead_, was spawned by a single concept at the end of the first adventure: Have your players decide what they would do with a year off to help rebuild Kelmarane. Thus, this book was born. From a single line at the end of _Howl of the Carrion King, _burst a legion of Heartless Dead. Thank you, Paizo, for inspiring us in such a simple way.

This fan fiction uses trademarks and/or copyrights owned by Paizo Publishing, LLC, which are used under Paizo's Community Use Policy. I am expressly prohibited from charging you to use or access this content. This fan fiction is not published, endorsed, or specifically approved by Paizo Publishing. For more information about Paizo's Community Use Policy, please visit paizo dot com /communityuse. For more information about Paizo Publishing and Paizo products, please visit paizo dot com.

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The Heartless Dead

Chapter One

The End of the Circle

Bree drew Tempest across another furred neck and smiled. A gnoll fell to his knees beside her. He clutched his throat in an effort to stem the tide of blood, but it was no use. He would be dead in another few beats of his heart.

A bark sounded from behind her and Bree turned in time to duck underneath a lunging attack dog. She sliced the dog open as it sailed over her. Blood and guts fell around her in a shower. She dove to the side, twisted out of the way of another attack dog and then swung out at its handler.

The gnoll howled as its arms were severed from its body. Bree raised Tempest to finish the cur off but changed her mind and moved on. Its cries would send the other gnolls into a frenzy.

Bree walked through the gnoll encampment with a sure stride. She was not afraid. It was _them_ who should fear. The gnolls of the Circle.

There couldn't be many left now. Fifteen. Maybe twenty. She could take them.

A group of six gnolls strode out from amongst the pack milling about her. They were larger than the others. Stronger. Flind, they were called. New name, same dogs.

They charged and Bree smiled.

The first to meet her fell to a slit throat. The second to disembowelment. It wasn't until the third was beheaded by Bree's icy blue scimitar that the others even tried to use their heads.

They let out a bark and three more gnolls - regular ones this time - moved in behind her. She wasn't worried about them. They were a distraction. A sacrifice to her blade. But the others. Oh, the others. They had a plan. They thought they were clever.

Bree smiled. She had seen this - lived through this - dozens of times. They would come at her all at once. Try to overwhelm her.

They would fail. These curs were nothing she hadn't seen before. To her they were already dead.

The gnolls around her growled and then lunged.

Bree ran towards the largest of them and then slid forward, underneath him with Tempest raised above her. His insides splattered against his comrades as he fell in the center of the gnolls, cut from throat to groin.

Bree skewered one of the other flind and then kicked the legs out from underneath the third. He fell to his knees with a yelp of surprise. Bree lopped his head off swiftly and then turned to the other three gnolls and spread her arms out wide.

"Come on, then."

"Enough!" someone called. It was a woman's voice. Rough, but definitely human. She spoke in the common tongue.

Silence fell among those left alive in the camp.

Bree smiled and turned. She faced a heavily scarred woman in simple, gray robes. "I wondered when you'd show your face."

"I know you, human."

"And I know you. The Witch of the Circle. I thought you were supposed to be fearsome. Terrifying. Alive with arcane power. You're nothing but another gnoll bitch grasping at power."

A cruel smile cut across the woman's face. "And you are a fool. Just as I had heard."

Bree laughed. "Your tribe is dead around you."

"Some of them."

"Most of them."

"Tell me, Bree, Gnoll Killer of Kelmarane. Do you want to hear what I know about you, before the end?"

"If you know who I am then you know your time is up. This is the end of the Circle."

"There is no end to the circle. It cannot end."

"Yours does."

"It is eternal."

"Enough stalling, Witch. Meet your end bravely."

The Witch nodded. "Enough stalling, indeed. Badilur! Bring out a slave!"

No! Bree eyed the camp around her warily. A slave? Why would they bring one to the battle? Usually they kept them out of the fight. No sense damaging their merchandise or, depending on the tribe, their food source...

A hulking flind stepped out from among the makeshift tents dragging a young child behind him. It was a boy. Seven, maybe eight. He was bruised heavily and sported three large cuts across his face. One of his arms was part missing. What remained was rough, as if it had been torn off or... eaten. The child did not scream or cry. A hollow, haunted look was in his eyes. He had given up long ago. How long had he been here?

"You should have asked what I knew about you," the Witch taunted.

"It doesn't matter."

"Doesn't it?"

"No."

"You didn't kill all of the Wormhollow Tribe, you know. One escaped. Do you know what the Wormhollow do, Bree? Hmmm?"

Bree nodded.

"They were spies, before you killed them. And do you know what this poor Wormhollow gnoll had to report about _you_ before he died?"

Badilur placed the boy on the ground before the Witch.

"Do you?"

Bree shook her head. "Don't."

"He said you had a particularly soft spot for slaves."

Badilur raised his blade to the boy's neck. The child made no move to escape.

"Don't."

The Witch smiled. "Don't what?"

"Don't hurt him."

"Place your blade upon the ground and walk forward slowly."

Bree nodded and placed Tempest by her feet. She took a step forward and then another. The gnolls left alive circled around her. Badilur pressed his blade into the child's neck. A drop of blood ran down its length.

"That's far enough," the Witch said after Bree had travelled twenty paces from her blade. "Fetch the altar!"

"Let the child go."

"Oh, I think not. I'm going to sacrifice you to Rovagug, the Rough Beast. My patron. It's going to be a long death, I'm afraid, and I don't want you causing any trouble."

"I'll cooperate if you let him go."

"No. You won't."

A trio of gnolls placed a large stone table upon the ground in between Bree and the Witch. It was carved with a series of open mouths devouring all manner of creatures. It seeped black ichor from its legs and smelt of blood.

A shudder ran through Bree. This was an unholy altar. If she died upon it her soul would belong to Cayden Cailean no longer, but to Rovagug. It was a fate worse than death. She backed up, but in response Badilur placed his blade deeper into the boys neck. She stopped.

"Lay upon the altar."

Bree obeyed.

The Witch began to chant in a foul tongue. Her voice rumbled deeply in her chest. Screams issued forth from the table. The Witch raised a jagged, bone dagger high above her head and then smiled.

"You think you've saved him? You think your death will save any of them?"

"If I don't try to save them, I'm no better than you."

"I want you to know, before I destroy you, that you've killed them all."

"Their deaths are not on my hands."

"Aren't they?"

Bree frowned. She wanted to tear this woman's throat out with her teeth.

"I knew you were coming for me, Gnoll Killer. I wanted to give you a parting gift, just in case you bested us."

"Looks like you can save it."

"Oh, you don't understand. It's already done. All I have to do is present it to you. Direct your attention to the tent behind me. Watch carefully now, they're going to open the flap. Are you ready?"

Bree turned her head away.

"Badilur, cut deeper."

"Don't! I'll look."

Bree turned back to the tent. It was large but in poor shape. It could hold about a dozen gnolls and -

The entire front panel on the tent was pulled away.

They were dead. Dozens of them. All of them. Slaves.

"Do you see what your anger brought? I knew you were coming for them. I knew you would_ kill us_ for them and so I killed them for _you_. Gruesomely. Each and every one of them. My gift to you. And now that your heart is broken. Now that your faith is shattered. I'm going to bring you before Rovagug so that he may devour your soul."

Bree grit her teeth and willed a copy of Tempest into her grasp. A chill enveloped her hand. She drove the mould copy of her blade deep into the Witch's chest.

The boy. She had to get the boy!

Bree rolled off the table and ran for Badilur. He whistled and two attack dogs lunged at her. The first grabbed her buckler and pulled her to the ground. The second bit her in the leg. She ignored them and crawled forward.

Badilur cut the boys throat.

Bree screamed. She bashed one of the dogs in the face with the shield it gripped and kicked at the other. She waved her mould-copy of Tempest at the surrounding gnolls, placed her shield hand upon her wounded leg and pushed a burst of divine energy through it. Her leg wound frothed itself closed in an instant of revelry and then Bree was back on her feet. She stabbed the dogs one at a time and then stepped towards Badilur.

He yipped once, ordering his remaining followers forward. Badilur, eight gnolls and a flind against Bree. They didn't stand a chance.

She ducked underneath a wide axe swing and repaid her attacker with a slice across his abdomen. She dodged a flail and cut an arm. She blocked a bite and bashed teeth out with her buckler. She tore muscle. Ripped flesh. Slashed. Stabbed.

Three gnolls fell. Then the flind. Bree was coated in blood, but she didn't care. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered. They killed them. She had failed.

Bree screamed in anger and rage. She threw herself at Badilur shield first. He grabbed her by the buckler and threw her to the side. As she flew, Bree drew her mould blade across his throat, from ear to ear. She landed in a roll and was on her feet as Badilur fell bleeding to the ground. The other gnolls turned and ran.

There could be no survivors. Not again. Not _ever_ again.

Bree walked to Badilur's corpse and let her mould copy of Tempest dissipate. She picked up a bow and six arrows. She fired at the gnolls, one by one, until her arrows were spent and they lay in the dirt with their brethren, dead or dying.

She threw the bow to the ground, kicked Badilur's corpse in the face and screamed.

This had _not_ gone according to plan.


	2. Chapter 2: Kelmarane

The Heartless Dead

Chapter Two

Kelmarane

A lot had changed in Kelmarane in the year since they had freed it from the gnolls. For starters it wasn't a ruin anymore, but a town. A working, thriving town. They rebuilt the Battle Market first, as a trade center, and no sooner was it open for business than merchants started passing through. Upper Kelmarane became filled to bursting with shops, markets and high end homes. Lower Kelmarane, the main thoroughfare through the town centered between two cliffs, became known as the Shades and home to inns, restaurants and bars. From there the town expanded. It pushed its borders to the river where a jail was built, and most industries set up their workshops. They called it Riverside. As the population grew citizens built their homes further and further south in a region that was now considered Lower Kelmarane. Temples were built, fields were tended and still more people came. The promise of freedom and protection proved tempting to pass up.

Kelmarane prospered and her people flourished. A village of tents sprung up outside of the town, north of the pesh fields, to house newcomers while they built their homes and businesses upon the land assigned to them by Mayor Roveshki. And upon the Pinnacle, the largest clifftop in Kelmarane, was built her crowning glory. Our Lady of Light Hospital. A massive house of healing where the most knowledgable doctors, clerics and herbalists in Katapesh provided the finest care in all of Golarion entirely free of charge. It was run on the coffers of its founder and charitable donations in honour of the Dawnflower - the goddess Sarenrae. It was here that Bree was headed.

Bree led a line of exhausted pack-camels through Tent Town and up to the main gate. A man dressed in the red and gold livery of Kelmarane's law enforcement stood guard beside it. He was a strapping young man with closely cropped black hair. He smiled at her as she approached.

"Bree? By the Dawnflower's light, is that you?"

Bree tried to recall the man's name as she drew closer. Faruq? No, he was the eldest deputy, not the youngest... Ali? No, he was the practical one. This was the charming one that Santon always assigned public posts. It was a good move. He had a welcoming smile, a handsome face and a charming wit.

"Deputy Hakim."

"Back with more liberated loot?"

Bree forced a smile onto her face and nodded. She had never liked this man. He was too... happy. But only on the surface. It never seemed to reach his eyes.

The young deputy raised an arm. "Form up, Junior Protectors!"

Two you girls dressed in miniature law enforcement uniforms fell into line beside him.

"Junior Captain Kit, reporting for duty!"

"Junior Protector Roh, reporting for duty!"

Bree smiled at them as they saluted her. The Junior Protectors were an organization overseen by the Sheriff which gave the young children of Kelmarane an outlet for their energy. It had started as a way to give the orphans, ex-slaves and other at-risk youth a home and something to do, but quickly drew other members into its fold. They ran messages, cleaned monuments, enforced minor laws and performed other odd jobs. It was considered a stepping stone into working in law enforcement and the justice halls, which - along with it technically being free child care - was part of what made it so popular with the parents of town.

Bree held out the reigns on the camels she led to the eldest of the girls. "Bring these to the Free House, Junior Captain Kit. Tiller will know what to do with them."

"Understood, Knight Protector Bree!" Kit nodded. She had bright green eyes, and fire red hair. She was an orphan, an ex-slave and was the first child to sign up for the protectors. She had a good heart and was constantly looking out for the other kids. Most of them considered her their leader. Bree had rescued her from a band of six gnolls on her first solo raid. She had saved ten slaves that day. And now she came home bearing none.

The younger girl, Roh, stared at her with wide, blue eyes. Stunned. She must be new. She had mousy brown hair and was definitely not a local, but Bree couldn't place her. Maybe she was one of the escaped slaves Tiller had brought back from Katapesh?

No. It didn't matter. Bree couldn't let herself be distracted now. She needed answers.

Bree moved to the back camel and removed a massive bag from its back. She hoisted it over her shoulder and groaned. Cayden's curse, it was heavy! Ugh! And it stunk! She nodded to the girls and sent them on their way.

A jingling of bells sounded behind her.

"Who was it this time?" Jank asked. He waved his bell topped wand at the retreating camels.

"The Circle," she grunted.

Jank nodded happily and scampered off yelling at the top of his lungs. "Knight Protector Bree of the Mouldy Arm, Gnoll Killer of Kelmarane and Servant of the Drunken Lord puts down the evil gnolls of the Circle! Freedom flourishes! Justice demanded of the slavers!"

Bree shook her head. She hadn't always liked Jank, but he had turned his life around. Redeemed himself. She was proud of his accomplishments, although she found him the most irritating town crier that Santon could have possibly appointed. Bree of the Mouldy Arm, indeed! The runt probably meant it as a compliment.

"The Sheriff is looking for you," Deputy Hakim said with a smile.

She walked past him and began the slow trek up the hill to the Pinnacle. "I'll be at the Hospital."

"I'll let him know." The young man nodded. "We're all glad to have you home, you know. You're a beacon of hope for the town."

Bree rolled her eyes. A reminder that they were all safer _in_ town, more like. She was good for business, but had few friends. Most people liked the stories about her more than they liked Bree herself. Still, it was a good town, and she had helped build it. She was proud to come home to Kelmarane.

Bree walked down a shop lined road named after Nes, passed by the ever embarrassing Bree Street, and then up Our Lady of Light Lane, all the way to the Pinnacle. She stopped in from of the Hospital in awe. It was a huge building. Massive, really. But not yet complete. There were still a small number of builders milling about. Behind the hospital was a funeral home, a chapel, the town graveyard and the manor of the hospital's founder, Kelestair.

Bree adjusted her burden and walked into the hospital. It was bright inside and quite airy. A woman greeted her as soon as she entered and enquired as to her name and illness.

Bree smiled. It was refreshing to find someone who didn't recognize her. "I'm here to see Kelestair."

"I'm sorry, but the doctor isn't available right now. Perhaps you'd like to see Dr. Nessai, instead?"

"Just tell me where he is."

"I'm sorry, but - "

Bree sighed. Perhaps it wasn't _that_ great being unknown. She dropped her bag on the ground. A rotting gnoll hand slipped out of the body bag. "Tipped tankard!" Bree cursed.

"Oh, my," the woman mouthed.

"Just tell him I - "

"Bree!"

Santon. She smiled.

He wrapped her in an embrace and then patted her on the head. "We missed you!"

"I missed you guys too."

"So?" Santon prodded at the body bag on the floor with his foot. "What's this?"

"I need Kelestair to look at it for me."

"A gnoll corpse? I'm sure he's _never_ seen on of those before."

"This one is different. It's - " Bree returned her attention to the woman who had greeted her. She seemed absolutely mortified.

"What's with her?" Santon asked.

"She wouldn't let me in."

The woman's eyes widened. "I am _so_ sorry, my lady! I had no idea you were - "

"Just Bree, please."

Santon laughed deeply. "I miss being unknown! I can't even piss without everyone finding out."

"I think we both know you enjoy the attention."

Santon smiled. "Is it that obvious?"

It wasn't, but Bree knew him well enough to guess. "Yes."

"You're a poor liar."

"I'll take it as a compliment. Here, carry this for me."

Santon arched an eyebrow. "You can carry your own stinking corpses, thank you."

"You're such a gentleman."

"You've dragged the thing across the desert, what's one more building?"

Bree hoisted the body bag back up onto her shoulder. "Well?" she asked the woman. "Where is he?"

She jumped but managed to stammer something along the lines of 'follow me.' She led them to through the winding hallways, past three herb gardens and finally, into a padded room. Kelestair stood inside, talking with a man in a straight jacket.

"Doctor?" the woman stammered.

"I left directions that I am not to be disturbed, did I not?"

The patient mumbled something about hungry shadows.

"Yes, Doctor, but she refused to - "

Kelestair nodded to the patient and exited the room, shutting the door behind him. As his red eyes met the corners of his lips turned up slightly. He nodded his horned head at the woman. "You are dismissed."

The woman stammered an apology and hurried off.

"Bree," he said in his gravelly voice. "I had little wonder what woman would come here to see me who could not be turned away. I presume you are not here solely for pleasure."

"Has she ever been?" Santon sighed.

Bree frowned. "I have a body I want you to look at."

Santon burst out laughing. "You hear that, Kel? She wants you to look at her body!"

Bree scowled. "I brought you a _dead_ body to look at.

Kelestair raised an eyebrow. "And they made you carry it?"

Santon smirked and Kelestair pursed his lips. He strode down the hall and returned with a thin table, wide enough for a person, on wheels. He gestured at it and Bree dropped the body on top. He straightened it, turned and walked down the hall.

"This way."

The room he led them to was large. A few stone tables occupied its center and the walls were lined with tiled niches. Each was rimmed in frost and many of them contained bodies. It was freezing.

Kelestair moved the rotting gnoll to the table then cut off its clothes.

"So, what are we looking at?" Santon asked.

"It would seem a better description is what _aren't_ we looking at," Kelestair mused. "This gnoll has no heart."

"You took out its _heart_?" Santon exclaimed.

Bree scowled. "It was like that when I found it!"

Kelestair moved in to examine the body closer.

"Besides," she continued. "Why would I take out its heart?"

"Bree, you have a buckler covered in gnoll fangs strapped onto your arm. Why _wouldn't_ you cut out its heart?" Bree frowned and glanced at the buckler she wore. She had taken a fang from every gnoll she had killed and had a craftsman place them upon her shield to form a rising sun. It was a holy symbol of her stand against slavery. She called it the _Dawn of Freedom_. She narrowed her eyes and -

"Fascinating," Kelestair rasped.

"What is, Kel?"

"Tell me how you came upon this gnoll, please, Bree,"

"I was hunting the Circle. After the last of them were dead I searched their camp and found a pile of dead bodies. All of them had their hearts missing."

"How many were there?"

"Twenty, maybe more. But there weren't just gnolls. There were humans, too, and camels. I thought they were a rival tribe, at first, but they all bore the symbol of the Circle branded onto them, and some of them were clearly slaves."

"An insurrection?" Santon asked.

"I don't think so."

"And they were all heartless? Like this one?"

"Yes."

"You're positive?"

"I said, yes."

"Fascinating. I've seen a few dead like this before, but they were all livestock. None were humanoid."

"So what did this?" Bree asked.

"I have no idea."

Bree sighed.

The corners of Kelestair's lips turned up. "Never fear, Bree. I will find out all I can. Now, which tribe did you say this was from?"

"The Circle."

"Specifics?"

"They worshipped Rovagug and were led by a woman known as the Witch."

"The Witch? Was she a caster?"

"Not that I could tell. She hurled no spells at me but - "

Kelestair raised his red eyes to hers. "But?"

"She tried to sacrifice me to the Rough Beast and I felt his... presence. I think she was a cleric or priest."

"She tried to sacrifice you?" Santon gasped. "Bree, do you know how dangerous it is for you to be - "

Kelestair cut off Santon's tirade with a glare. He locked eyes with Bree once more. "Are you alright?"

"I'm alive."

The corners of his lips tilted down into a slight frown. "Alive is not always good enough. Now, I don't see any traces of the arcane upon the corpse, although it could have faded by now if she was of middling powers. I will have to look into it further to know for certain. However, if she was a cleric, I will have to call in an expert. The divine is not my specialty."

"Do you think she used them for some kind of sacrifice?" Bree asked.

Kelestair shook his head. "Honestly, I doubt it. I don't see any religious markings or other wounds, both of which are common in sacrifices to Rovagug."

"So, they just decided to rip the hearts out of each other?" Santon asked.

"Unlikely. And I am not familiar with any weapon or beast which kills in quite this... manner."

"So it's a dead end?"

"I assure you, Bree, I will find out all I can, but it will take some time. Now what else can you tell me about the Circle?"

"They were one of the most powerful tribes under the Carrion King. Rumours said they were building some kind of weapon for him, but all the evidence I found showed that they were excavators. Their camp was just a big dig site."

"Where was their territory?"

"They have a permanent camp at the base of the Pale Mountain, but I found them much further south."

"Do they often leave their camp?"

"No. That's part of why I brought the body back. I thought maybe it had something to do with their weapon."

Santon frowned. "So they found some kind of weapon that rips out hearts and headed south to take ours?"

"I thought so at first, but I couldn't find any strange weapons or tools in their camp. I'm not even sure they found what they were digging for."

Santon stroked his chin. "Maybe the Carrion King got tired of waiting and sent them south without it."

Bree nodded. "It's possible, but they didn't seem like they were on a war march."

"So he was upset with their progress and they fled before he could punish them?"

"They _were_ moving quickly. Still. That doesn't explain anything about the dead." Bree frowned. "Wait. These bodies _can't_ be caused by a weapon. If they were, how do we explain your heartless livestock? I've been hunting the Circle for weeks and they never made it anywhere near this far south."

Santon shrugged. "Advanced scouts?"

"I don't see how I could have missed any. I always take out the scouts first."

"So, what? You think it's an animal that did this, then?"

"They're gnolls, not rabbits. They should have been able to defend themselves against an animal."

"Something bigger? Or stealthy?"

Bree shook her head. "I don't know."

Kelestair tilted the corner of his lips down slightly. "I will look into your gnoll corpse, Bree, and I will find you the answers you seek."

Bree nodded. "Thank-you, Kelestair. I'm sorry to bring this to you so suddenly. You must be busy enough without me interfering."

Kelestair pursed his lips together tightly. "You are never a bother. Besides, the most exciting things happen when you are around. Who else intimidates my secretaries and drags rotting corpses through my halls?"

Bree laughed for the first time in weeks. It felt good. "Did you just make a joke?"

The corners of his lips curled up slightly in response.

She smiled. "Will wonders never cease?"

Santon threw out his best charming smiles. "Stick around and you might find out."

Bree glared at him. "You know I can't."

"You've gotten rid of the Circle," he reasoned. "And you're running out of gnolls."

"That's a good thing."

"Is it?"

"Of course it is."

Santon smirked. "What are you going to do with yourself when you run out of slavers to kill?"

Bree frowned. "I'll... Well, I'll..." Froth and foam! What _would_ she do?"

"I'm sure she'll find some way to occupy her time," Kelestair assured them. "There is always more work to be done."

Santon smiled. "Sure there is. So, how long are you staying in town, Bree?"

"Just a few days. I need to plan which tribe to go after next, get my armour tended to, check in on the Free House, and rest for a day. Then I'll be - "

Santon shook his head. "Do me a favour."

Bree raised an eyebrow and eyed him suspiciously. "What?"

"Don't just stay for a few errands. Visit a bit."

"I'm busy, Santon. My work is important."

"Everyone misses you."

Bree laughed. "Sure they do."

"We miss you."

Bree rolled her eyes.

"I miss you. And Kel misses you, don't you Kel?"

Kelestair looked up from the gnoll corpse awkwardly. "Well, I - " He paused, seemingly searching for the right words.

"Oh, stop teasing him," Bree sighed.

Santon smiled. "Stay at least a week."

"A week?!"

"A week. Run your errands, re-equip, visit your friends and rest. Come on over. Undrella would love to have you for dinner."

"I'm sure she would," Bree nodded. "Would she start with my eyes or my heart?"

Santon smiled. "She's changed, Bree, which you would know if you had seen her."

"Sure she has."

"Come for dinner. Take a break. When the week's done Kel will have your answers and you can leave again. And by the gods, Bree, go see your boyfriend! You've been gone so long he's hit the gutters."

Bree frowned. Trevvis had turned to drinking again? He had promised he would stop. Her frown deepened. "I haven't been gone _that_ long."

"Yes, you have."

"Stay out of it."

"You said you'd be gone three weeks."

"And now I'm back."

"It's been over a month."

Bree sighed. "Is he bad?"

"Yeah. He is."

Bree frowned. "He promised he'd - "

"He thinks you're dead, Bree. Give the guy a break."

She sighed again. "I have to visit the smith first. I have new teeth to be added to the _Dawn of Freedom_."

Kelestair looked up from his work. "I can take them for you."

"To the armourer?"

The corners of his lips curled up slightly. "To my workshop. I have become quite adept at crafting all manner of gear."

"Are you sure? I'm sure you're busy enough as it - "

"I would not have offered my services if I was not."

Bree untied a bag of gnoll fangs from her belt and passed them to Kelestair, followed by her buckler.

He weighed the teeth in his hand. "Bringing the Dawnflower's light to these lands?"

Bree smiled. "One gnoll at a time."

"I will have it ready for you by the time the week is out."

Bree scowled and turned to Santon. "I have to visit Dashki, as well, before I pay anyone else visits."

"No."

"I need to get news on the Al'Chorhaiv and the Three Jaws tribes. They're all that's left and I need to plan how I'm - "

"No, Bree."

"I wasn't asking your permission, _Sheriff_."

Santon smiled. "It's not possible."

"What?"

"Kallien saw you coming from the watch tower. I knew you would want to get out of here as fast as you could, but that you wouldn't leave without getting all the information you could from Dashki, so I sent him away."

"You _what_?!"

"He's on a scouting mission."

"But, my quest is - " Bree scowled. "Cayden Cailean sent me here to complete a divine-"

"I know what you're doing is important, but so is _living_. I doubt the god of revelry will begrudge you a week to have fun. Besides, Dashki will be back in five days armed with all kinds of juicy new information for you."

Bree sighed.

"Enough excuses, Bree. Go tell your boyfriend you're alive and when you're done, come see me. There's someone I want you to meet." Santon chuckled to himself. "Well, not _right_ away. Spend the night with him, at least!" He winked.

Bree shook her head. Santon was hopeless. Still, perhaps he was right... Surely her Lord wouldn't hold a _short_ rest against her.


	3. Chapter 3: Ghosts

The Heartless Dead

Chapter Three

Ghosts

Bree stood on Trevvis' doorstep with her hand raised to knock. A few empty bottles lay scattered about his flower beds. She sighed deeply. She couldn't stand to see Trevvis trying to drown himself in drink. Not again. She lowered her hand. She couldn't do this.

The door swung open. Trevvis stepped out of the doorway and stopped. His eyes widened in shock. A bottle of liquor slipped out of his grip and shattered on the ground.

"Star Flower?"

"Hey, Trevvis."

Trevvis threw himself at Bree and folded her tightly into his arms. "Is it really you?"

She felt safe wrapped in his embrace. Happy. She smiled. "Who else would it be?"

"A ghost," he rasped. "A dream." He sighed deeply. "Whatever it is I don't want it to end."

"It's me, Trevvis." She patted him on the back. "Truly."

"You're home."

His hold on her loosened and he pulled back from her, holding her at arms length. He looked at her slowly, from boots to hair, as if he still didn't believe she was real. As if it was his last chance to look at her. He reached out and touched her face. Stroked her cheek.

Bree sighed.

He smiled. "Oh, Star Flower. I missed you."

"I missed you, too. Now are you going to invite me in?"

Trevvis laughed and gestured for her to come inside. It was as messy as she had imagined. Messier, perhaps. Empty bottles lay everywhere, dirty clothes were piled on the floor and scraps of parchment covered with crude drawings of Bree littered the bed.

She frowned.

Trevvis pushed the papers onto the floor and beckoned for her to sit beside him upon the bed. "I missed you," he repeated.

Bree found herself smiling despite their surroundings. She couldn't help it. Trevvis always made her giddy.

"Every day since you've been gone I've dreamt of what I would do when I held you again."

Bree blushed. "Oh? And what did you decide?"

He smiled. "I'd marry you. Have kids. Tie you to the bed so you never leave..."

Bree frowned. "Trevvis, I - "

He sighed. "I know none of that is part of your plan, Star Flower. I just miss you so much and... I love you."

Bree's protests melted upon her tongue. She smiled shyly.

Trevvis continued. "You just make it so hard to - "

Bree frowned. "So do you. It looks like you drank Kelmarane dry."

"I thought you were dead," Trevvis rasped.

"I told you I'd come back."

"You told me you'd come back in three weeks. It's been thirty-seven days."

"You were counting?"

"You weren't?"

Bree frowned.

Trevvis sighed. "I managed to hold off until day twenty-nine before I... turned to the drink."

"You should have waited longer to - "

"And you should have come back sooner!"

Bree scowled. "Well maybe I'll _leave_ sooner!"

Trevvis sighed in defeat. "Star Flower, just... Stay with me. Please," he pleaded. "I know a family and a life with me isn't what you want but - "

"It's what I want it's just... not possible. Not right now."

"Right, right. Your god's quest."

"It's very important, Trevvis. For everyone. Why can't you see that?"

"Of course I see that! It brought you to me! But it's also taking you away from me."

"Don't make me choose between you and my god."

"Just... Give me thirty-seven days."

Bree gaped. "Thirty-seven days? That's over a month!"

"An equal trade for every day I waited for you to come home to me."

"You're ridiculous!"

"Thirty-seven hours then! Just me and you. No errands. No quests. No gods. Just a man and his woman."

Bree frowned. But she had so much to do! So much needed to be done before -

"Stop thinking, Star Flower!" Trevvis grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her close. "Let me pretend for a day and a half that you're mine."

"I am yours."

Trevvis tilted her chin up to his own. "_Really_ mine." He placed a kiss gently upon her lips.

Her resolve wilted like a flower in the sun.

"I need to make up for lost time," he pouted, punctuating each word with a kiss. "Get my fill of you before you leave again."

Bree moaned and returned his kisses passionately. "Are you going to make love to me like there's no tomorrow?"

He pulled back and looked at her deeply. His eyes were clear. Serious. "As far as I'm concerned, Star Flower, there is no tomorrow. Not when you're gone."

Froth and foam, he could make her feel so guilty! "I'll give you two days," Bree replied.

"Without errands!"

Bree nodded. "Yes, without errands."

"Deal."

"But then there's things I have to do."

"You're leaving, then?"

"Not until the end of the week."

Trevvis reeled back as if he had been hit. "I get _two_ out of _seven_ days?!"

Bree frowned. "Two for just _you_. Five for you and errands."

"How generous of you," Trevvis spat.

"Cayden's codpiece! Stop complaining and _kiss_ me!"

Trevvis smiled. He lunged at Bree, pinned her to the bed and pressed his lips roughly against her own. A shiver ran up her spine. Her whole body yearned for him. She moaned. She could stay here forever.

That was the trouble with Trevvis. He made it all too easy.

Stay with him. Settle down. Get married. Have kids. Retire.

She could have the perfect life.

Only she _couldn't_. It wasn't her fate. Cayden Cailean had other plans for her.

Trevvis kissed a line from her ear to her collarbone. She groaned. All thoughts of her god vanished like smoke on the wind. It was just _him_ and _her_ and nothing else mattered. Not the booze, not the gods, not holy vendettas. Nothing.

"I love you, Star Flower."

Bree's heart fluttered and her cheeks flushed. How could so few words could hold such power over her?

She smiled. "I missed you, too."


	4. Chapter 4: A Day in the Life

The Heartless Dead

Chapter Four

A Day in the Life

Kelestair's gravelly voice echoed down the hospital's hallways. His tone was professional, but he spoke slowly. Santon didn't always bring him the smartest children. "And that is the last of Our Lady of Light. I hope you have enjoyed your tour." He curled his lips up as high as he could, into a semblance of a smile. It felt strange. More like a sneer, really. Still, it often eased the fear his devilish visage evoked in others.

The little girl before him nodded once. She was incredibly pale, with hair the colour of pitch. She was small for her age and stood only as tall as Kelestair's hip. The skin around her eyes was dark and had a greenish tinge to it. The remnants of a healing bruise.

Santon smiled. "Zym, would you excuse us for a moment?"

The little girl nodded.

"Come on, Kel."

Kelestair raised an eyebrow, but followed Santon to a nearby office.

Santon let his smile drop. "I'd like you to give her a _full_ tour."

"I have."

"You didn't show her everything."

Kelestair narrowed his eyes. "I showed her everything on the _tour_. What else do you want her to see?"

"Everything."

The corners of Kelestair's lips tilted down, into a slight frown. "That is not possible."

Santon smiled. "Everything you would allow an apprentice to see, then."

"An apprentice?" Kelestair mused. "Of what? The child showed no interest in the healing arts, or any of the wards."

"You didn't show her everything."

"I showed her everything that a child is allowed to see."

Santon smirked. "So don't think of her as a child."

Kelestair narrowed his eyes. "Tell me why you brought this... Zym before me, Santon. She is not like the others."

Santon nodded. "No, she's not. I want you to mentor her."

"You have brought me some of your Junior Protectors to mentor before and I have left them in capable hands. But, this child shows no desire to be taught medicine. I will not burden my employees with her."

Santon sighed. "I don't want you to _find_ her a mentor, Kel. I want _you_ to mentor her."

Kelestair scoffed. "I have enough demands on my time."

"Just give her a chance."

"She shows no promise, and has no desire to learn."

Santon smirked. "You didn't show her anything she's interested in."

"I have shown her everything!"

"Take her to the morgue."

Kelestair's eyes widened. "She is a child. She has no place among the dead."

"Zym watched her mother die from a wasting disease and her father's not what I would call a good role model."

Kelestair nodded. "Her bruises are his handiwork, then?"

"What else are father's for?"

"I wouldn't know," Kelestair stated dryly.

Santon chuckled. "And I would?" His face turned somber. "I've seen her when she thinks no one is looking, Kel. She watches things. People, the other kids, animals. It's like she's trying to figure out how to be like them, but can't seem to get it right. She's awkward and gives the other kids the creeps."

"And you think showing her the morgue will help her come to terms with her mother's death?"

"I think it will give her a new life."

"Seeing a corpse won't give her closure."

Santon smiled. "I think _you_ will give her a new life."

"I am not a miracle worker."

"She found a wounded animal, the other day."

"I have no time to train animal doctors, Santon."

"She didn't heal it. She didn't even call for help. She just sat there, crouched over the wounded fennec until it's last breath. She watched it die."

Kelestair raised an eyebrow. "How long did it take?"

Santon frowned. "An hour."

Kelestair paused, lost in thought.

"Look, Kel, I'll be honest with you. Zym's obsessed with death. Right now, she's watching things die, but who knows what she'll do tomorrow? I don't want one of my Junior Protector's torturing lizards in the pesh fields for kicks."

"Perhaps one of the funeral directors will take her under their wing."

Santon sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Just... Take her to the morgue. Let her watch an autopsy."

"I will not apprentice a child to the morgue."

"I don't want her mentored by a death doctor, I want her mentored by _you_!"

Kelestair's eye widened. "You... You would entrust a child to my care?" He shook his head. "No, Santon, I don't... I am not..." He struggled to find the right words.

"Trust me, Kel. You're the person - the _only_ person - I trust to make a _citizen_ out of her."

Kelestair paused. His red eyes were dark. Torn.

Santon smiled. "Give her a chance, Kel. I think you'll be perfect for each other."

Kelestair stiffened, but nodded. "Very well, but I can only do so much." He opened the door to the office and returned to the hallway. Zym stood outside of the sick ward, peering into a curtained archway. Hacking coughs sounded from within, followed by rasping, laboured breathing.

"Come on, Zym," Santon said. "Leave the sick to their recoveries, yeah?"

Zym looked at him blankly. "I am. This patient won't live."

Kelestair lips formed into a grim line. "The sick enter these halls daily, and most recover enough to leave again."

Zym shrugged. "She won't."

"What makes you say that?"

"Her breathing."

"Her breathing? What is your reasoning?"

"It's... wet? Like there's something in her that shouldn't be there."

"Many illnesses bring mucous and phlegm to the throat and lungs. Perhaps she has a common cold."

Zym shook her head. "This is... different. It's... I can't..." A frown creased her brow. "I don't know how to explain my conclusion, doctor."

Kelestair nodded. "You are right, Zym. That woman will not recover."

Santon frowned. "Well leave the dying to their deaths, then. You'll creep the lady out."

Zym cast her eyes to the tiled floor. "Yes, sir."

The corners of Kelestair's lips turned down. "It appears I have more free time than expected, child. Would you like to continue our tour?"

Zym eyed him with suspicion. "I checked the directory. We have seen all the healing wards."

Kelestair cocked an eyebrow. "Does that mean there is nothing left to see?"

Zym shook her head. "No, doctor."

"Do you know what is left?"

Her black eyes met his red ones without hesitation. They glittered fiercely. "Yes, doctor."

"Come, then. We have business in the morgue."

"We?" Excitement crept into her voice.

"Are you not up to the task?"

"I am not afraid."

"It is not you're bravery I am calling into question, but your constitution. Many grown men vomit when faced with an opened corpse for the first time."

"Is that what I will get to see?"

"Yes."

"Can I hold it's heart?"

Santon suppressed a shiver, but Kelestair seemed unfazed.

"I am afraid not."

Zym's voice took on a tremor of disappointment. "I see."

"The corpse we are going to examine has no heart," he corrected. "It is missing."

Zym's eyes brightened. "Fascinating."

The corners of Kelestair's mouth turned up into a slight smile. "Isn't it?"

Santon cleared his throat. "Yes, well, lead the way then, Kel."

Kelestair looked up in mild surprise. "I was not aware you thought your presence was further required. You are free to return to your duties, Sheriff. I think Zym and I will get along famously."

Santon smirked. "I thought you might."

Zym's stern face took on a levity he hadn't seen in months. Her lips twitched slightly.

Santon clapped Kelestair on the shoulder. "Dinner tonight, Kel. Don't forget."

Kelestair nodded. "My ward and I will be happy to attend. Won't we?"

A slight blush coloured Zym's cheeks as a smile crept it's way onto her bruised face. "Yes, doctor."

Santon grinned. Zym would be alright. Kelestair would see to it.

* * *

Bree entered the Free House with a smile.

It was a large building. At a block square and five floors high, it was the fourth largest in all of Kelmarane. Over a hundred newly liberated slaves lived under its roof, recuperating from their mental and physical scars. They also received food, education, and training - everything they needed to rebuild their lives in Kelmarane.

Bree had helped build the Free House with her own hands and, though she found working within it's sandstone walls fulfilling, she knew it was not where she was meant to be. Fortunately for her, many other like-minded individuals were drawn to the tales of Kelmarane. Freedom fighters, rebels, insurgents, Eagle Knights and even fellow followers of the Drunken Lord flocked to the Free House to lend a hand. Eventually, Bree had turned the care of her beloved haven over to a halfling she had come to know as Tiller. She had first met him in the streets of Katapesh. He had given her directions to the Dawn Gate where she signed up with Almah's caravan. She had thought him a local, at first, but quickly found he was an Eagle Knight from her old home, Andoran, who worked with a group of halflings known as the Bellflower Network. Typically, they freed halflings from Cheliax, bus Tiller's association with the Eagle Knights meant he worked to free everyone from everywhere.

Bree eyed the common room, looking for her black-haired, little friend.

"Well, well, well. I thought I'd find you here," a husky woman's voice crooned.

Bree cringed. That was definitely not Tiller. "Careful, Undrella. We keep track of the souls who pass through this House. We'd notice if anyone goes missing."

Undrella laughed. Her voice was thick with condescension. "We? Oh, Bree, when do _you_ do anything around this town?"

Bree frowned. "I do more than you, at least, harpy." She turned, and saw Undrella in the company of two children in the uniforms of the Junior Protectors. One was the shy girl who she had met at the town gates. What was her name? Rue? Row? She couldn't remember. The other was a boy named Ali who had been at the Free House for three months.

"Do you?" Undrella asked pointedly.

"What are you doing here?"

"I came to bring two of our young Protectors home."

"And Santon trusted _you_ to do that?"

"I don't bite."

Bree scoffed. She eyed the children carefully. They seemed alright, although the girl was as skittish as a doe. "Run along," she said to them.

They didn't move a muscle.

Undrella smiled. "Junior Protectors," she announced. "Dismissed!"

The children saluted her. Ali scurried off to find his father, but the girl seemed to wander aimlessly. Did she have no one to come home to?

"What are you really doing here, harpy?"

"I told you. I was bringing the kids home. Contrary to your prejudices, I have been known to do a good deed, here and there. Or haven't you heard the news on the streets?"

Bree laughed. "Jank's as far in the Sheriff's pocket as the Sheriff is in yours."

Undrella smiled. "You always were a skeptic."

"You always were a liar."

"And _you_ are bad at reading people."

"I think you'll find a lot has changed on that count."

Undrella smiled lazily. "And what do you sense about me now?"

Bree opened her eyes to the auras around her and saw - nothing. No tainted auras, no foul scent. Nothing evil drifted off of Undrella at all. Was she..? Had she truly... turned good? Repented? Was it possible? _Her_? A _harpy_?

Bree frowned. "I don't know what tricks you have up your sleeve - "

Undrella laughed. She held her arms out before her. "I'm not wearing sleeves, dear."

"What do you want?"

"I've been looking for you."

"What for?"

"Well, it's certainly not for your enjoyable company."

"Then what?" Bree spat.

"I came to invite you to dinner."

"I'm not on the menu."

"Unfortunate," Undrella breathed wistfully.

"I'm serious. And no one else here is, either."

Undrella frowned. "We're having a family dinner tonight."

"Family?"

"Yes, family. I'm sure you understand the concept, even if you don't have one of your own."

Bree's eyes narrowed dangerously.

Undrella's frown softened. "Santon bade me invite you if I saw you, and so I have. Attend, or don't. Sarenrae knows _I_ don't want your company."

"So why invite me? Surely you can sing a fine lie to Santon. Or does your voice hurt?"

Undrella locked eyes with Bree. "I have changed," she stated.

Bree searched her copper orbs for signs of falsehood, but found none. "That remains to be seen."

Undrella frowned. "Dinner's at dusk. Don't be late." Undrella stalked out of the Free House.

"Worried I won't spring whatever trap you've cooked up for me?"

"It's bad manners," Undrella called over her shoulder.

Bree scowled. She hated that harpy!

What kind of game was she playing? The last time Bree had seen her she had wreaked of evil. It's miasma hung about her like a cloak, and tendrils drifted off of her in rivulets, polluting the air around her. Still, she had sensed nothing foul upon her today. What kind of magic had that wretch gotten her hands on that could mask her deeds from Bree's holy sight? It had only been a few weeks, hadn't it? Surely her transformation couldn't be genuine! It had only been... Well, perhaps it _had_ been a while. More than a while. Nine months. Froth and foam, had it been that long? That was enough time to bring life into this world, but was it enough time to scour ones soul of evil? Could it even be done?

Bree sighed.

"What kind of greeting is that for an old friend?"

Bree grinned. She turned and crouched down, wrapping the speaker in a hearty hug. "Tiller!"

Tiller laughed. His messy, black hair tickled her nose. It smelt of bellflowers.

"That's more like it, lass."

Bree pulled back and looked into the wily halflings brown eyes. "Did you get the camels I sent?"

"Aye. And a fine price their goods fetched. It's more than enough to keep us hip deep in livestock and grains for months. You've done right by us."

Bree frowned. "I should have brought back more."

"I did notice there was no lively merchandise among the shipments."

Bree's frown deepened. He meant that she had brought back no slaves. Tiller was so used to talking in code while in Katapesh, he found it hard to drop the habit even among friendly ears. It made Bree's blood run hot with anger. Cayden's Curse upon the bloody Pactmasters for enslaving even a free man's mouth!

"Did the merchandise die along the way?"

Bree shook her head. "No. The Circle killed them when they heard I was coming."

Tiller's eyes widened. "All?"

Bree nodded. "It's all my fault. If I had been more - "

Tiller's eyes grew as unyielding as stone. "No. You've freed more slaves than I can count."

"But, I failed them," she rasped.

"You tried to save them."

"And failed."

Tiller sighed. "Don't blame yourself for the deeds of another. Once you do you'll never wash the guilt from your heart or the blood from your hands."

Bree nodded.

"We can only control what we _do_. And trust me when I say, you do _good_, Bree. Every day. I see it. Others see it. And our dear, Drunken Lord sees it."

"You think so?"

Tiller nodded. "I do. Now get to work. The kitchen could use some help."

Bree laughed. "The kitchen? Do I look like a scullery maid?"

"I told you, we're up to our hips in livestock! Plus, another Tiller brought in a shipment of live ones. We're welcoming eight freed souls tonight!"

Bree smiled. A Tiller was actually a title, not a name. It referred to a member of the Bellflower Network who helped slaves escape their bondage and find a safe place to lay low. At least five had come to use the Free House as a base in the past months.

"I have dinner at Santon's tonight."

"Well, lucky for you our celebration runs a little later than dinner."

Bree smiled. "It's at Cayden's Hall, then?"

Tiller winked. "You'll come join our revelry?"

Bree laughed. Cayden's Hall was a local tavern dedicated to Cayden Cailean, god of alcohol, parties and freedom. It was run by the Claisant family, a third generation group of brewers and freedom fighters, and was the closest thing devotees of her god had to a church.

"Of course I'll worship with you! Besides, I haven't visited the Claisant's since the last time I came home."

"I'll make sure they know you're coming." He winked. "Then they'll crack open the _good_ kegs."

* * *

When Bree and Trevvis arrived Santon's place was bursting with energy. In the time Bree had been away it had changed from a small building with a holding cell to a rather large home. The furniture was worn, but cared for, it's floors were polished to a glistening shine and lively portraits hung from the walls. Some featured the homeowners - Santon and Undrella - but most were of friends, family and the Junior Protectors. The most prominent faced the entryway, and took up nearly a whole wall. It showed a jolly looking half-orc with kind eyes. His large, lower fangs protruded from his mouth in an almost comical fashion, though Bree was certain he would look fierce if he frowned. The name Chochy was engraved on a plaque below the painting, though Bree had never heard of him.

Laughter drifted down the hallway, so Bree and Trevvis worked their way further into the home. A massive table had been set up in the middle of the den and trios of misshapen candles clearly shaped by a child's hand burned on every available surface. Five children dashed around the house waving small wooden swords. Kit lingered over them and though she berated them for being immature it was clear she longed to join their games. Bree smiled. She could hardly remember a time she was so carefree.

The shy, mousy girl whose name Bree couldn't recall froze when their eyes met. She blushed furiously, passed her toy sword off to one of the boys then sat down beside Kit on a nearby settee.

Trevvis laughed.

Bree frowned. What kinds of stories had this girl heard of her? Was she so intimidating she scared the fun right out of children?

"Bree!" Santon bellowed as he wrapped her in a friendly embrace. Trevvis' grip on her hand tightened possessively. "You're just in time."

Undrella waltzed into the room carrying a massive tray of roasted goat. "Dinner!" she crooned.

"Food!" one of the young boys shrieked. He dashed off to the kitchen and returned a moment later carrying a heaping bowl of lentils.

A flurry of activity followed as the rest of the food was brought out and the guests all struggled to find a seat.

Bree and Trevvis sat at one end of the table while Santon and Undrella sat at the other. Haleen, the slave girl Bree had saved on Santon's behalf last year while he fought Kardswann, sat beside Santon. She smiled at him joyfully. Bree had originally thought them lovers, but it turned out Haleen was his elder sister. Other than their beauty and dark hair, they looked nothing alike.

Utarchus, Trevvis' friend and a member of Kelmarane's Militia, sat beside Haleen. He cradled her hand in his lap and stroked it gently. His other arm rested around Kit, the fiery haired Junior Protector. Her companion, the mousy girl, sat beside her, directly next to Bree. She held her hands in her lap and twiddled her fingers nervously.

The other side of the table was lined with the rest of the children, Jank and Kelestair. Jank sat amidst the kids who talked excitedly with him while Kelestair talked quietly with the young girl beside him about proper table manners and etiquette. She seemed to be hanging on his every word and obviously took his instructions quite seriously. Bree rolled her eyes. The youth in this town spent far too much time looking up to certain 'heroes' and not nearly enough time having fun.

Santon clanged his fork on a ridiculously expensive looking wineglass. The chattering around the table fell quiet.

"I know we're a little unorthodox," he began with a boyish grin. "But as far as I'm concerned everyone here is my family and Undrella and I are thrilled that you joined us today."

A few of the children - and Jank - beamed up at him in awe. What was he to them? A hero, a role model or a father? Most of the children here were orphans. Santon must be to them, what Norn had been for her. Bree suppressed a frown. He was hardly what Bree would consider a good father figure.

"Bree," Santon continued. "I cracked out the good wine tonight to make sure you'd show up, and I'm pleased to see it worked." He chuckled. "We're happy to have you home with us for as long as you stay." He nodded at Trevvis. "Welcome back. And now, I believe my irritating elder sister," Santon eyed Haleen mischievously. "Has some wonderful news for us."

Haleen smiled. "Utarchus and I have pledged ourselves to one another! We hope to be wed in few months and would love for all of you to attend."

A few of the kids at the table hooted. Jank waved his arms in a flurry of jingling bells and frantic applause. Trevvis smacked his hand on the tabletop enthusiastically. Kelestair clapped politely and the young girl beside him followed suit.

"Also!" Haleen called over the din. "We have officially adopted Kit into our family!"

Kit's jaw dropped. The kids began hooting again. A blush spread across Kit's face followed by a brilliant smile. She threw herself at Haleen and Utarchus and hugged them tightly.

Bree smiled sadly. How different would life have been for her, if she had found a loving home so young?

"Well?" Santon asked. "Any other big news tonight, before we dig into the food?" He cast his glance around the room.

The boy sitting next to Undrella raised his arm. "I brewed a potion today!" he exclaimed.

"Successfully?" Santon asked.

The boy nodded vigorously. "Uh-huh! It tasted funny, but it worked! My hair was purple for three whole hours!"

Santon laughed.

Undrella smiled indulgently at the boy. "It was wonderful, Eli. If you keep practicing I might even let you help me fill the Infusium this weekend."

"Really?" he exclaimed.

Undrella nodded.

Santon smiled. "I'm glad your mentoring is going so well."

One of the other children piped up. "I caught a frog today!"

"You did?"

"Uh-huh! But he wanted to get away, so I let him go."

"I helped a lady cross the street!" another child called out.

"You did not!"

"I did too!"

The young girl beside Kelestair looked up at him. He his nodded horned head once. He cleared his throat and the room fell silent around him. "I have taken on Zym as my ward."

"Ward?" one of the children whispered. "What's that?"

"It's a place they take sick people," his companion muttered.

"No, you fool!" Eli cut in, "It means he's going to mentor her."

"It means," Kelestair announced. "That although Zym is still a Junior Protector and will attend to her evening duties as such, she is now my responsibility. A part of my...family." He paused, tasting the unfamiliar word upon his tongue. "I am her guardian. She will be moved into my estate immediately and has already begun an apprenticeship under me."

A few of the kids nodded. Family, at least, they understood.

"That is, of course," Kelestair continued with a quirked eyebrow. "If the Sheriff provides his consent?"

Santon chuckled. "Of course, Kel! And speaking of mentors," Santon cast his eyes at Bree. She frowned. This would be nothing but trouble.

"I told you there was someone I wanted you to meet, Bree." He gestured at the shy child beside her. "This is Roh."

The girl fidgeted nervously.

"You may not remember, but you and the Claisant's saved her from Al'Vohr and his hunters a few months back."

Bree suppressed a frown. Al'Vohr? She recalled him, of course. He and his gnoll hunters devoured roc eggs in an effort to turn themselves into flind. Still, she didn't remember this child in the least. Was there even a child among those she had saved that day? Bree's mind worked frantically. She always tried to keep track of the slaves she freed, but the month that she had taken down Al'Vohr had been busy. She had also broken up three minor slave rings and attacked the Wyrmslave Tribe.

The girl's twitching increased.

Bree nodded. "Of course I remember you, Roh," she lied. "Tiller told me you and Kit did a fine job delivering the camels to him."

Roh looked up at her shyly. Excitement sparkled in her eyes.

Santon smiled. "I told you she'd remember you," he said encouragingly. He winked at Bree as he continued. "The Junior Protectors have been visiting a lot of businesses and shops lately. We're trying to find each of them trades and activities that they find interesting. Just this week the kids tried their hands at a chandler's shop."

Well that explained the misshapen candles everywhere! Bree smiled politely and reached for her wineglass.

"I'd like you to take Roh under your wing."

Bree choked, sending white wine spraying across the table. The kids shrieked, Santon smiled and Roh blushed furiously.

When Bree recovered she glared dangerously at Santon. "I don't think that's a good idea."

Santon cocked his head in disappointment. "I think it is."

"And I think you're wrong."

Roh pushed her chair out from the table with a whimper and dashed outside.

Santon frowned.

Bree shook her head. "No, Santon."

The kids around the table shuffled nervously.

"Give her a chance."

"I'm never here!" Bree exclaimed defensively. "When do you expect me to mentor a kid?"

"Whenever you can."

"I'm busy!"

"Then make time."

"My quest is important! You know that! I can't just put it aside for some kid!"

Santon scowled. "I thought you of all people would understand how important this is!"

"Babysitting?" Bree exclaimed. "You think you can tie me to this town and keep me here if you saddle me with a kid?"

Santon shook his head. "This isn't about _you_, this is about _her_. Roh isn't just some kid, Bree. She's a girl who needs guidance from someone she looks up to."

"Send her to the Claisant's."

"And have her wait tables in a bar?"

"Then send her to Tiller."

"She lives with Tiller."

"Then - "

"I'm asking _you_, Bree. It's _you_ who saved her, _you_ that she looks up to, and _you_ that could break her out of the little shell she's built around herself."

Bree scoffed.

"I know you! And I know her! You can help her."

"I'd be a horrible mentor."

"Just give her a chance!"

Bree downed the rest of her wine. "No."

"You're such a stubborn - "

Bree frowned. "Good thing I'm not a mentor, then. I wouldn't want to make someone turn out like me." She turned and stalked out of the room.

"She's not _trying_ to be like you. She _is_ you! I thought you'd care enough to help _her_ out, at least. I guess Norn skipped your lessons on charity to teach you about vengeance." Santon's words cut Bree like a blade. She slammed the door behind her, stepped out onto the doorstep and screamed.

"I'm sorry," a soft voice whimpered.

Bree turned to find Roh huddled in the flower beds. A few tears glistened on her cheeks.

Bree shook her head and sat down beside the child in the dirt. "It's not you, Roh. It's me."

Roh sniffled and wiped her eyes, determined to hide her pain.

"I'm never here. Do you understand? I can't mentor you because I'm rarely in town."

Roh nodded.

"I'm always out hunting down slavers and freeing people like you."

Roh nodded again.

"And when I am here I only stay long enough to sharpen my blades before I head out again."

Roh nodded a third time, but Bree could tell her words were having little effect on the despondent child.

"Look, Roh. I like you. I really do. But I _can't_ mentor you. I can't mentor _anyone_." She sighed. "What would I show you, anyway?" she spat. Bitterness crept into her voice. "How to kill a gnoll? How to defang something without chipping the teeth?"

Roh looked up at Bree and shook her head. "How to defend myself. How to defend my - _the_ families around me."

Bree's mismatched eyes met Roh's. "You live in a safe place now. You don't need to learn how to fight."

"But... What if it's not always safe?"

"There's other people here to protect you. Santon, Haleen, Utarchus."

"I don't want other people to protect me."

"You're too young to fight."

"What happens when the heroes everyone relies on aren't here anymore?"

"They'll always be here," Bree lied.

"You aren't."

"I'm not a hero. I'm a killer."

"You're a person, just like them."

Bree laughed. "I suppose I am."

"I want to learn to be strong."

Bree shook her head. "Strength doesn't always come from violence."

"Please?" Roh asked.

"No. You're too young."

Roh sighed. "How old were you when you first learned to fight?"

"I was... young. Too young."

"My age?"

Bree frowned. "Yes."

"What makes you so different from me?"

"I had to fight. You don't."

"No one _has_ to fight."

Bree nodded.

"Please," she begged.

Bree shook her head. Froth and foam this girl was stubborn! "No."

Roh began to shake. "I just... I need to take the nightmares away," she rasped. "Please! I don't want to be afraid anymore! I don't want to be helpless!"

Bree wrapped the child in her arms. "I'm sorry, Roh. But I don't know how to make the nightmares stop."

Roh's small frame heaved against her. Sobs wracked her body.

Bree patted her mousy brown hair. "I wish I could, but I - " She frowned. How could she tell a child so young that after a decade she still dreamt of her Mother's murder? That the torments inflicted upon Roh by the gnolls would never stop hurting? "I... I tried to drown my nightmares away with alcohol. I wasn't much older than you, then. But it... It didn't work. I still hear my Mother's screams in the night."

Roh sniffled loudly. "Then... how do you..?"

Bree smiled sadly. "I found faith, Roh. And Cayden Cailean found me." She patted her on the back. "Come on, let's got back in to eat."

Roh sniffed and wiped her eyes.

"Afterwards I'm going to worship at Cayden's Hall. You're welcome to come with me."

Roh looked up at Bree with such excitement that Bree felt her heartbreak for the child.

"No, Roh. I'm not going to mentor you."

Roh's eyes dimmed. She nodded in resignation.

"But," Bree continued. "I _will_ take you to the people who I think should. If anyone can help you find your way it'll be the Claisant's."

* * *

Bree left Santon's home well past sunset with Trevvis and Roh in tow. Kelestair and his ward, Zym, walked alongside them. They took Zym home first - it was to be her last night in the Junior Protector's barracks and she had plenty of packing left to do. Roh had been determined to stay with Bree, but Kelestair had insisted she return to her room as well. It was far too late for children to be up at all, never mind visiting taverns. Roh had not been pleased.

As they neared the turn off for the hospital Kelestair pulled Bree to the side.

"You intend to drink tonight, yes?" he whispered into her ear.

His warm breath sent a chill down her neck. "Of course," she managed to stutter. "We're worshipping."

"And your _boyfriend_ will be accompanying you?" The way his tongue rolled on the word boyfriend seemed almost dangerous. Was he jealous? Angry? He and Trevvis had never gotten along...

"Yes," she sighed. "Why the sudden interest?"

Kelestair stiffened. "As a doctor, I need to remind you that your _boyfriend_ is a recovering alcoholic. If you hope to see him stop abusing your gods holy draught then I suggest you stop allowing him to... worship with you."

Bree frowned. Kelestair was right. Trevvis would never give up the booze if she kept dangling it in front of him. She sighed. Kelestair apparently took it as a sign of her hesitation.

"I am sorry, but I thought devotees of the Drunken God frowned upon the misuse of his gifts. I did not think Trevvis would be welcome in Cayden's Hall at this time."

Bree shook her head. "No, you're right. I just... How do I even tell him to - "

"Tell me what, Star Flower? That you're sending me home alone while you head out to _worship_ with your friend?"

Bree froze, stunned at the venom in his voice.

"As a doctor, I believe it - "

Trevvis spat at Kelestair's feet. "I know what you're up to, freak!" he yelled. His eyes were dark with fury and fear. "Stay away from my woman!"

Kelestair's eyes hardened. His lips set themselves firmly in a grim line. "I spoke out as a doctor on your behalf, Trevvis. I only care to - "

"Don't give me that crap, devil! You've watched her steps since you first laid eyes on her!"

"I assure you, I have no hidden intentions."

Trevvis laughed bitterly.

Bree raised her palm and slapped him firmly in the cheek.

He spat a gob of blood on the ground. "You side with _him_, then?"

Bree shook her head. "What's happened to you, Trevvis?"

"It's not me, it's _him_! Can't you see? Everyone's trying to get between us!"

"No, Trevvis! It's _you_! _You're_ getting between us! _You're_ what's holding us back! Your drinking and your jealousy and your anger!"

"Star Flower, it's _them_ not me!"

"No! It is your continued abuse of my God and his tenants! You are drowning yourself in the drink and it's poisoning you! It's poisoning _us_! Can't you see that - "

Trevvis seized Bree by the back of the head and pulled her mouth down roughly to his. He forced his tongue into her mouth. It was savage and raw and... wrong.

Bree bit his tongue, causing him to reel back, but his hand was tangled in her hair. She shrieked in pain as he pulled her with him.

"You're mine, Star Flower," he grunted.

"Let go of me, Trevvis, before you do something you'll regret."

"You're coming home with me."

"She told you to let her go," Kelestair cut in. His voice was dark. Dangerous.

Trevvis sneered. "She's not _your_ woman, she's _mine_."

"No one owns her," Kelestair replied sternly.

Bree grabbed Trevvis by the wrist and twisted, causing his grip to loosen on her hair. He cursed. Bree slipped out from under his hand. "Go home, Trevvis. And don't turn to the bottle. Think about what it's doing to us."

Clarity returned to Trevvis' eyes. His remorse was palpable. "Star Flower, I'm so sorry, I - "  
"I said, go home."

He nodded slowly. "I understand, Star Flower. Just... Just come home after, yeah? I need you to... get through this. I can't do it alone."

Bree sighed. What a fine night this was turning out to be! Some celebration.

"Please, Star Flower."

"Of course, Trevvis. No go _home_."

He walked away from her slowly, peering back every few steps in the hopes that she'd change her mind.

"I apologize, Bree." Kelestair stated. His lips were turned down slightly in a frown and his eyes were troubled. "I did not mean to cause friction between the two of you. But, I consider addictions a sickness and - "

Bree smiled sadly. "You have nothing to be sorry for. It's Trevvis who should feel remorse. He shouldn't have said those things to you."

Kelestair nodded. "I am accustomed to prejudice."

"You shouldn't have to be."

The corners of Kelestair's lips tilted up. "That make's little difference."

"It should."

He shrugged. "It has made me the man I am today."

Trevvis finally passed out of sight.

Kelestair bowed to Bree deeply. "My sincerest apologies for being a source of turmoil in your life. Goodnight, Bree. May your..." he paused and seemed to contemplate his next words. "May your tankard be ever full."

Bree smiled. "Where do you think you're going?"

Kelestair cocked an eyebrow. "Home?"

"Oh, no you're not! You lost me my date! You'll have to escort me in his stead."

"You... want me to worship with you?"

Bree smiled. "I'm sure the Dawnflower will forgive you just this once. Besides, I hear my God has even tried to woo yours on occasion. That practically makes us family."

The corners of Kelestair's lips tilted down. "I had not heard _that_."

Bree laughed. "Come on. Cayden's Hall is this way." She took Kelestair's hand in her own and pulled.

He stiffened at her touch.

"You don't want to come?"

"It's not that, I... It's just..." Kelestair stumbled over a response. "I don't... I've never... partaken of your god's holy draught."

Bree's eyes bulged. "You've never drank before?"

"Yes, well... I prefer to keep my wits about me."

Bree smiled fiendishly. "Well, there is a first time for everything, Doctor." She pulled on his hand again and this time he followed. "And since it is your first time," she continued. "I regret to inform you that you are about to kiss your wits goodbye."


	5. Chapter 5: A Civil Conversation

The Heartless Dead

Chapter Five

A Civil Conversation

Bree strode into the Sheriff's office, threw herself into an empty chair and tossed her booted feet up onto the table. "What have we got?"

Santon was there, of course, in his perfectly pressed red and gold law-enforcement livery. He wore a customary boyish grin upon his face and looked carelessly handsome. Bree knew it was anything _but_ careless. The man spent more time grooming than Princess Roveshki.

Dashki was perched in the corner dressed in his filthy, weather beaten leathers. Did he even own other clothes? He shuffled back and forth in agitation, clearly anxious at being in such an enclosed space.

Kelestair sat perfectly erect in a plush looking chair. His robes were immaculate, as always. They were coloured like a sunrise and perfectly tailored. Even Bree had to admit he cut a fine figure. Husk, lurked atop his horns and Zym stood beside him imperiously. Her robes were a mirror of Kelestair's own and she wore a ridiculously large hair piece that seemed reminiscent of horns.

Bree frowned. As if that child had any right to be at a hunt meeting! What was Kelestair thinking?

Santon shook his head. "I'm doing wonderful this morning, Bree. Thank you for asking."

Bree rolled her eyes.

Dashki groaned. "Enough pleasantries. Your voices are grating."

Husk squawked angrily at him.

Bree smirked. "That feral enough for you?"

Dashki sneered. His eyes turned cold.

Bree fixed her gaze to Dashki's and repeated her previous question slowly. "What have we got?"

"You listen to the howls as well as I, woman. You know what's left."

"I know there's two tribes who still have guts enough to answer the Carrion King's call."

Santon smiled. "Answering hasn't proven well for the gnoll population, lately, has it? It's the stubborn ones who are left."

Kelestair cocked an eyebrow slightly and nodded at Zym.

Her eyes widened, but she opened her mouth without hesitation. "It is more likely the strongest tribes who remain loyal. Even the most stubborn would have fled after seeing the Circle fall. Gnolls care for their own survival more than allegiances and pride."

Bree narrowed her eyes. Who did this child think she was? "What are you even doing here, kid?"

Zym's eyes darkened. She opened her mouth but closed it again immediately. She looked up at Kelestair, waiting for his permission to speak.

He spoke instead. "She is my ward, my apprentice and my successor. She has as much right to be here as I do."

"She's a kid, Kelestair. This is a hunt meeting, not a game nor a school house."

Kelestair's lips turned down at the corners slightly. Zym balled her little hands into fists.

"You think I would treat something this important as a game?" he asked.

Bree frowned. Of course she didn't. Kelestair didn't even treat games as a game. She sighed and shook her head. "No. She just... shouldn't be here."

Zym's gaze darkened with anger. Her eyes became little more than black orbs. A vein bulged on her temple, but her expression remained impassive. Her lips were pressed together in a calm line.

"She is intelligent and insightful," Kelestair pointed out. "Still, she will remain a silent observer, if it pleases you."

"That's not the - "

"I will _not_ send her away."

Bree scowled, but nodded. At least he was a protective mentor. He would make a good father one day, if a woman ever gave him a chance. Better than her own, at least. She returned her gaze to Dashki's. "What do we have?"

"Two tribes remain. The Three Jaws and the Al'Chorhaiv. And the child is right. They're the strongest gnoll tribes in the region."

Bree snorted. "Not much competition for that title."

A rumble began in Dashki's throat. She glared at him and he stifled it.

"They are the strongest you have faced. Too strong, for you."

Bree smirked. When she spoke her voice was thick with condescension. "I think I can handle it."

"Alright, alright," Santon cut in. "Settle down. Just tell her about the tribes, Dashki."

"The Al'Chorhaiv are over fifty gnolls strong and have countless scorpions living among their number. Their symbol is a length of intestines dangling from a hyena skull. They are ruled by a gnoll bitch called Ahrikvask. She wrested control of the tribe from her mate through poison, and murdered his other wives. She then drank of the poison herself to prove her worth. It is her who the scorpions serve. Her bodyguard is a giant vhagshea."

"A what?" Bree asked.

"A div blood scorpion."

"Div?"  
Dashki could contain his irritation no longer. "Desert demons, woman! Are you insolent?"

"Manners, Dashki," Kelestair warned. "Let us have a civil conversation." Husk squawked in agreement.

Dashki swallowed his words. He growled, then began again. "Divs were spawned in Abaddon by the spirits of the first evil genies."

"They are kin to Daemons, then?" Bree asked, remembering Xulthos with a shudder.

Dashki nodded. "They corrupt for the sake of corrupting and devour for no other reason than to kill. They are evil, through and through, but care for neither order nor chaos. They have no goals or motivations. They simply destroy in whatever insidious way they desire, turning each victims sins against them. The vhagshea was born of their blood. They are the most venomous creatures in existence."

"And she keeps one as a pet?"

"It obeys her commands. She is said to be immune to all forms of venom and poison. Even if you can kill all her gnolls - "

"I _can_."

"It matters not! One sting is your death, woman."

Bree rolled her eyes. "Where do they lair?"

"The Al'Chorhaiv are nomadic, but they are currently in the northern passes of the Brazen Peaks."

"And the Three Jaws?"

Dashki growled. "You will leave my brothers alone."

Bree frowned. The Three Jaws were among the most ruthless gnolls in the entire region. Even the other gnolls feared them. What they did to their slaves was... Unimaginable. "I have allowed them to _live_ long enough! I gave them an ultimatum and they ignored it."

"They cannot change their ways on your whims, bitch! They are proud! They are Three Jaws!" Dashki thumped his arm against his chest, clearly indicating he counted himself among their number.

"Then they will die like the rest!" Bree spat.

"Cut it out, you guys," Santon interrupted. "At least _pretend_ to be civilized."

Dashki puffed his chest out, but Bree didn't rise to his challenge. She remained still as a stone. Eventually he backed down. A cruel smile cut across his face.

"The Three Jaws are descended from the most powerful gnolls to ever live. They once ruled all the races in this entire region. You have never faced their like before."

Bree rolled her eyes, but Dashki's grin only widened.

"They adorn themselves with living banners of their enemies, piercing themselves with flesh, bone and teeth. Their chieftain is Hakkur, Slayer of Death Worms. He wears his father's crown through his shoulder and wears magical rings through his cheeks. They number over thirty gnolls, twenty flinds and twenty guard hyenas."

Bree smiled. "That's it?"

Dashki didn't rise to her taunt. "They spend their days hunting new trophies and roving the wilds. You will never sneak up on them. The Three Jaws will be your death."

Bree refused to let her smile fall. "And where do they lair?"

"Their camp lies on the banks of a feeder stream that stems from the upper reaches of the Pale Mountain. They live in a series of huts made from the skins of intruders. I relish the thought of your pallid flesh joining the others."

Bree scoffed. "You'd need a genie to make that wish come true, cur. Anything else?"

"They will tear you apart, digit by digit, dev - "

"Yeah, yeah. Devouring me as they go. I've heard it before, Dashki."

"You're about to experience it."

Santon cleared his throat. "Alright! Thanks for the report, Dashki. You can go."

Dashki nodded once at Santon. His eyes shifted back and forth with nervously. "Thank you," he muttered under his breath.

Bree raised an eyebrow. She had never heard Dashki thank anyone before. What had Santon done for him? "For what?" she asked.

"That is not your concern, bitch!" Dashki growled.

"Mind your tongue," Kelestair ordered.

Dashki fell silent then burst from the office in a flurry of pent up rage. Husk watched his every move, ruffling his feathers and following the hunters form with his strange yellow eyes. Bree suppressed a shudder. That bird was eerie.

Once Dashki was gone Bree sighed. She slumped back in her chair and rolled her shoulders. She always had to be on guard around Dashki and the effort often caused her muscles to stiffen. It was exhausting. "What did you do for him, anyway?" she asked Santon.

"Nothing special."

Bree raised an eyebrow. "Treat me like a fool again, and see what happens."

He smirked. "Everybody owes me something, Bree."

"I don't."

Santon laughed. "Of course you do. You'll just never pay me back."

Bree scowled. She drew her gaze over to Kelestair. He looked as unperturbed as ever. Untouchable. He rarely let petty concerns trouble him. "What did you find out about the corpse?"

"The body was used for neither an arcane nor a profane purpose."

"So they weren't sacrifices, then?" Bree asked.

"They were not. The only other markings we found upon the body were some deep gouges likely caused by talons. The markings around the chest cavity were clearly those of an animals teeth, although I know of no beast, living or dead, whose jaws could make such an imprint."

"So it was just an animal? Not a weapon at all?"

Kelestair pursed his lips together. "I am not sure. It _is_ some kind of animal, but that does not mean it is not also a weapon. A trained beast could be highly effective in this region. Whatever the case, I believe creature is incredibly dangerous."

"He's right, Bree," Santon cut it. "I've had my ears to the ground all week for more heartless dead, and we've found some."

"More cattle?"

"A lot more cattle. Plus, six people. Two were caravan guards found a few days west of here, one was a merchant found a day to the north and the last three of were builders on Kelestair's night crew. Whatever this thing is it's killing a lot of people, in a short amount of time and no one's even noticed." Santon looked at her sadly, pleading with her through his gaze.

Bree frowned. She knew that look. It meant he was about to tell her something she wouldn't like, then follow it up with a request she would like even less. She gritted her teeth and prepared herself to stay firm. No matter how big and glassy his big ol' brown eyes got she would stand her ground! She would _not_ be fooled again!

"I think," Santon continued. His voice sounded so heavy. Sad. "That this beast poses a much greater threat than we can imagine, Bree. Greater, even, than the gnolls."

Bree scowled.

"I hate to ask this of you," he rasped desperately. His eyes looked pained. "I know what your quest means to you. What it means to all of us, but... We need your help, Bree. Here. In Kelmarane. Just until we catch this beast."

Bree felt an overwhelming urge to comfort Santon. To pat him on the back and assure him that there was no reason to fear. No reason to worry. She would always he here for him. She would stay and -

Bree scowled. Tipped tankard! She had almost fallen for it! Stay in Kelmarane? Ha! She would do no such thing!

"I can't do this without you," Santon admitted.

He was right. They needed her. Who else could kill this beast? Who else would... No. She had gnolls to kill and slaves to free.

"No, Santon."

"I - "

"No."

"But - "

"I think the infamous Sheriff of Kelmarane can handle a few animal attacks on his own."

Santon smirked. "Well played."

Bree's scowl deepened. Froth and foam, Santon drove her crazy!

"There haven't been any attacks near Thrice Hills, but I sent a few member of the Militia out there just in case."

Bree nodded in relief. Thrice Hills was a tiny village to the northeast built upon three hilltops nestled between two rivers. It was built generations ago, and had remained standing when Kelmarane fell. It had suffered greatly at the hands of the gnolls of the region but the villagers were stubborn. No matter how many of their number were killed, eaten or taken as slaves, they endured. Bree had visited them on many occasions over the past year and spent as much of her time and effort helping them build defenses and fortify their homes as she had hunting gnolls.

"Thank you."

Santon smiled boyishly. "See? I told you you owe me."

Bree rolled her eyes. "You're so kind."

"Which tribe will you hunt next?" Kelestair asked.

"The Three Jaws."

Kelestair nodded.

Santon sputtered as if he hadn't seen it coming, but Bree knew him better than that. He was a smart man and the Three Jaws were her next logical target. He had known her decision before she had answered.

"Are you mad, Bree? The Three Jaws will rip you to shreds."

"Cayden's will be done."

"I'm serious!"

"So am I."

Santon sighed in exasperation. "At least take someone with you."

"No."

"I know a guy named Alkar. He's almost eight feet tall and - "

"He'll slow me down."

"Jamus, then. He's the best tracker I've ever seen. Not bad with a bow, either."

Bree shook her head. "I said _no_."

"But - "

"Leave her be, Santon," Kelestair said flatly. "Bree's quest is a communion between herself and her god. If she feels she must do his will alone, then who are we to judge?"

"You're on her side now?" Santon exclaimed. He chuckled to himself. "I see how it is. Just be careful."

"I'm always careful."

Santon and Kelestair both cocked an eyebrow.

Bree sighed. "Fine. I'll be _extra_ careful. Is the _Dawn of Freedom_ ready?"

Kelestair nodded. "It is indeed. You may pick it up from me this evening."

"I can go there now."

"No. I have a few other items to gather which will be of interest to you. You may come at dusk."

Bree sighed. That would mean she'd have to linger another day! "You're devious."

The corners of his lips turned up slightly. "I don't know what you mean."

He knew exactly what she meant. Bree could tell. Still, she knew better than to push him. Kelestair was steadfast. Resolute. He would not budge. Bree sighed and walked out of the room.

"I'll see you at dusk?" He enquired.

"I'll be there," She called over her shoulder.

When she was gone, Santon frowned. "I can't believe you let her go alone."

Kelestair's lips formed a grim line. "You know as well as I that she will not bring company. I saw no need to push her."

"It's a communion between Bree and her god," Santon mocked. "You can't be serious!"

Kelestair pursed his lips.

"I know you worry about her as much as I do when she's gone, Kel."

Kelestair's eyes narrowed. "I have devised a method to monitor her. We will know her whereabouts, mental state and health at all times."

Santon smiled. "She won't let you keep an eye on her. She won't let anyone."

"She won't know."

Santon laughed. "I'm liking the sounds of this more and more. Still, if she's in trouble we won't be able to help her."

The corners of Kelestair's lips turned up slightly, twitched, and then kept going until they formed a real, honest to gods, smile. "Rest assured, Santon, I have thought of everything. Bree will return to us unharmed." He rose from his chair and swept out of the room with Zym close on his heels.

"That's awful nice of you," Santon chuckled.

Kelestair's gravelly voice echoed from the hallways. "It is what friends do."

Santon smiled.

Bree was _not_ going to be happy.


	6. Chapter 6: Checkmate

The Heartless Dead

Chapter Six

Checkmate

To say Kelestair's manor was opulent would have been a gross understatement. It numbered among the largest, most richly decorated residences Bree had seen in her entire life. Though it was built entirely of local red sandstone, its outer facade was designed in the gothic style of Kelestair's native country, Cheliax. The manor featured an abundance of spires, towers, pinnacles, clustered columns, pointed arches, and elaborate carvings and tracery. Stone statues graced the roofline and drain spouts, though they were carved to depict the goddess Sarenrae and her servants rather than the devils which would have leered over similar structures to the north.

The interior featured ridiculously high, ribbed vaulted ceilings and flying buttresses which gave the building both an immense verticality, and dominance. The windows were all either slim, tall pointed arches or massive circles, many of which were filled with stained glass representations of the sun, or Sarenrae. The entirety of the manor was decorated in shades of gold, red, orange, yellow, and cream - colours holy to the faith of the Dawnflower.

It was majestic.

Bree smiled as she strode up the front steps and stood before the large, pointed arch, wooden doors. She knocked loudly, but didn't bother to wait for an answer before entering. Kelestair kept no servants and employed no housekeepers, so she often had to let herself in. How he kept a building this size so clean by himself was a mystery, although Bree imagined it to be a spell of some sort.

Husk waited for her just inside the front entryway. He squawked as she approached.

"Hey, birdbrain," Bree replied. "It's nice to see you, too."

Husk's strange, yellow eyes narrowed. He squawked again, louder this time.

"Oh, stop your whining. Just take me to Kelestair."

The cantankerous vulture's scowl never wavered as he turned and loped off down the hallway, leading the way to the West Wing.

Bree followed the bird without surprise. She had expected as much. It was dusk, and the West Wing was situated to catch the sunset. If it had been morning he would likely have been in the East Wing to view the sunrise.

Husk pushed open the door to the west drawing room with his beak. At the far end of the room, pressed up against the glass windows, sat Kelestair and Zym. They leaned over an elaborate red and yellow chess set.

Kelestair raised his head as she entered. The corners of his lips turned up, into the smallest of smiles. "Bree," he greeted. "I see Husk performed his task admirably."

"Performed?" Bree chuckled. "Yes. Enjoyed? Definitely not. Your bird hates me." She crossed the room and leaned over the chess set.

Kelestair's smile widened. "He will learn to enjoy your company."

Bree scoffed. "_Sure_ he will. Just as soon as Dashki does."

Kelestair's lips returned to a neutral line. He rose and offered her his chair. "Sit, Bree. Take over while I retrieve your shield."

Bree shook her head. "I'm fine. Feel free to finish your game."

"I insist."

"I'm no good at chess."

"Zym would benefit from a..." he paused, searching for the right word. "Less practiced opponent."

Bree laughed. "She could use an easy win, you mean!"

A slight reddening occurred in Kelestair's cheeks. "Nonsense."

"It's alright, Kelestair. No one insults me quite as nicely you do."

Kelestair pursed his lips together tightly. He gestured at the board. "You have a strong position. Simply take your time and think out your actions before putting them into play. You will do fine."

Across the board Zym glared daggers at Bree. Her eyes were dark as pitch, and glassy. Bree frowned, but sat in Kelestair's seat. She looked down at the board arrayed before her. Zym had few pieces left, but they were powerful. An angelic looking King and Queen, a bishop, three pawns and two knights. Bree had nearly all of her pieces still on the board. She smiled. No wonder Zym was so upset! Kelestair had been mopping the floor with her!

"It is your turn," Zym said through tightly pursed lips.

Bree nodded. She reached across the board and picked her red queen up off the board. It was made of a highly polished stone and was rather heavy. She moved the Queen in line with Zym's King. Zym's lip quivered. She moved one of her knights in a backwards L-shape and removed Bree's Queen from the board.

Bree frowned. She slid her rook sideways, lining it up with Zym's King again, but Zym countered by sliding her bishop back to capture the rook.

Bree furrowed her brow. Zym smirked. The brat!

Bree moved a pawn forward cautiously. No sense losing another important piece.

Zym moved one of her knights over to capture Bree's final rook.

Froth and foam, this kid was good! Bree eyed the board suspiciously. She needed to focus on the other pieces before going for Zym's King... Bree chose a tempting looking piece, one of her bishops, and placed it near Zym's Queen, but within reach of her other bishop.

Zym furrowed her brow. She eyed the board. A minute passed. Another.

Bree smiled.

Zym fell for Bree's trap and took the bishop with her Queen. Bree chuckled as she dashed in with her other bishop, removing Zym's most powerful piece - the Queen - from the board.

"You should be more careful with your pieces, Zym. What are you going to do without your Queen?"

Zym moved one of her knights over and removed Bree's second bishop from the game. Bree shrugged. It was a small price to pay to get rid of Zym's power piece. She moved a knight over. In another turn it would line up with Zym's.

Zym quirked an eyebrow. "That's it?"

Bree smiled. The kid didn't see the danger her piece was in.

Zym shook her head. "There are things more important than the Queen in chess." She slid her bishop across the board, into the space opened up by Bree's baiting of the Queen. "Checkmate."

Bree frowned. "Tipped tankard!" she cursed. The kid had her.

Kelestair strode into the room and placed a few items onto a large table. "Did Zym capture a piece?"

"Yeah," Bree scoffed. "My king."

Kelestair raised an eyebrow. "You were two moves away from forcing her into checkmate."

"I told you I was no good at chess!"

Zym nodded. "In this, at least, you were right."

"Zym," Kelestair reprimanded. "What have I said about modesty?"

Zym frowned slightly, but caught herself. Her lips returned to a solemn line and she held out her hand. "Fair game, Knight Protector Bree. I thank you for giving me the opportunity to pound you into dust. It was cathartic."

Bree scowled. "Look, kid, I don't know who you think you are - "

Zym's eyes flashed dangerously.

"Ladies," Kelestair warned.

Bree turned to the fuming little child before her. "What'd I do to you, anyway? You're the one who won."

"You treat me as beneath you."

"I do not!"

"You do."

Bree sighed. "I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings this afternoon, okay? But you shouldn't have been in that hunt meeting."

"I was invited in order to offer my insights."

Bree scoffed. "You were _invited_ because you're Kelestair's new _pet_."

Kelestair rose his voice. "Ladies!"

Zym threw a glare at her mentor before turning back to Bree. "I accept your apology and will take your continued mistreatment of me as a sign of your ignorance."

Bree scowled. "Excuse me?"

Zym crossed her arms. "I spoke in the common tongue. Surely you understood?"

"Broken tankard, Kelestair! Teach your new pet some manners!"

Husk hopped up onto the chess board, flapped his wings in their faces and squawked at the top of his lungs.

Bree and Zym stumbled back from the vulture.

"Alright!" Bree growled. "You made your point, birdbrain!"

"No," Kelestair said tightly. "He made _mine_. Now cease your childish bickering or I will send both of you to your rooms without supper."

Bree scoffed. "I'm not a kid. You can't tell - "

"Then grow up."

Bree rolled her eyes, but turned back to Zym. "I'm sorry I hurt your feelings, and called you a pet. It was rude."

Zym nodded. "I am sorry I informed your of your ignorance. I will endeavour to be exceptionally convoluted in the future."

"Enough," Kelestair interrupted. "Reset the board Zym."

Zym scowled but did as she was told. Kelestair nodded at Bree.

She joined him at the table. "Tipped tankard! What did you do to the _Dawn of Freedom_?"

"I made her larger, but - "

"I can see that! I fight with a buckler, Kelestair. How do you expect me to strap _that_ to my arm?"

"I _assure_ you, you _can_. Though I made it larger you'll find it no heavier than previously."

"And the balance?"

"The same."

Bree raised an eyebrow. "You're sure?"

"I would not have modified her if I wasn't. Besides, I saw the teeth marks around her edges. You've used her for bashing and likely injured yourself in the process."

"So?"

"So," Kelestair sighed. "You'll find her much better suited to all kinds of maneuvers, including bashing in hyena skulls without injuring yourself. Also, there was not enough room for all the canines you brought me."

Bree laughed. "Fair enough." She glanced at the other bits of clothing on the table. "What's all this?"

Kelestair handed her a fine looking pair of boots. They were rich brown in colour and had golden embroidery all along their outer surface. "Try these on."

Bree raised an eyebrow, but did so. They were comfortable and warm. "They're nice, but I'll roast during the day. I can't take these."

The corners of his lips tilted up slightly. "I think you'll find that is not the case. They will keep your feel cool during the day, warm at night, and will quiet your steps."

Bree raised an eyebrow. "Did you _seriously_ make me magic shoes?"

"I... suppose you could say that. Yes."

Bree held up a cloak weaved in beige and brown tones. "And this?"

"Camouflage."

"Mundane?"

Kelestair pursed his lips. "Magically enhanced."

Bree smiled and held up a brown, leather vest. An image of the _Dawn of Freedom_ was stitched onto its back with golden thread. "And this?"

Kelestair smirked. "It will make you look terribly attractive."

Bree burst out laughing. "See? You _can_ be funny when you put your mind to it."

"Perhaps."

She held out the last item, a delicate ring made of interlocking golden and silver bands. "And I suppose this it just to remember you by?"

"Of course."

Bree laughed. "Seriously, though. What do they do?"

"The vest bears your symbol. It will strike fear into the hearts of the gnolls, so be sure to wear it over top of your chain shirt. The ring will help sustain you."

"Sustain me?"

"While worn it will provide your body with nourishment. You will eat, drink and sleep less, without any ill effects."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"Now _that_ will be useful."

Kelestair's lips twitched, but rose into a smile despite his best efforts to suppress it. "I am glad. Now, it is about to start. Would you mind if I joined you?"

Bree furrowed her brow. "What's about to start?"

"The nightly howls of the Carrion King. You still listen to their cries, do you not?"

"I try, but it's hard to hear in town."

"Down in the Shades, perhaps, but here on the Pinnacle the howls are as clear as they used to be."

"Really?"

He nodded. "Come."

Bree collected her new gear and followed Kelestair through the manor to the Eastern Tower. The topmost room proved to be an observatory of some kind. It had no walls, but plenty of slim pointed arches which formed into an open air flying buttress. A circular stone bench was built into the center of the floor, with a large spyglass mounted in it's middle. It spun lazily in the wind.

Bree smiled. "Froth and foam! This is amazing. Do you watch the sunrise from here?"

Kelestair nodded. "Among other things." He walked around the bench and sat, positioning himself to face north.

Bree sat down beside him. She eyed the distant horizon. Well past Kelmarane's edges began the Brazen Peaks and, at its heart, sat the infamous Pale Mountain, home of the Carrion King. That was where the howls would begin.

The sun finished its slow plunge into the earth and, over the course of a few minutes, Bree and Kelestair watched the last of Sarenrae's light fade. The sky turned dark. The stars shone.

It was beautiful.

The sounds of the town below were muted. Nothing more than a few voices drifting on the wind. Bree listened to the sound of her own breathing. It was faster than Kelestair's. His was slow, calm. Relaxing. She listened, matching her breathing to his own in order to ease her nerves. Froth and foam, they were high!

A sharp howl cut through the night like a blade, drawing Bree out of her reverie. It was fierce. Loud. Powerful.

"The Carrion King," Kelestair rasped.

Bree nodded.

She tensed, waiting for the howls of his followers to join his own.

A second howl broke the silence, this one quick and aggressive.

"The Three Jaws," Bree explained.

A third howl joined in a moment later. It was longer than the others, but softer. A sort of long hiss, more than a true howl.

"Then that is the Al'Chorhaiv?" Kelestair asked.

Bree nodded.

They waited in tense silence. The howls continued for a few minutes, but no new voices joined them. Bree smiled.

When she had first come to the region the howls had continued on for hours each night. There had been over thirty tribes and bands under the Carrion King's control. And now, only a year later, there were three tribes left. _Three_!

Kelestair raised his lips into a large smile. "You have done well, Bree."

Bree smiled. "I didn't do it alone." She raised her wineskin to the sky. "Here's to you, my Lord Cailean! May my blade be ever sharp, my shield ever strong and my tankard ever full!" Bree took a few deep gulps of red wine.

"I believe I can help you in that endeavour," Kelestair replied with a smirk. He produced two bottles of wine from his robes and held one out to her. "Though this is not the finest brew to be had in the country, I believe it will be the best suited to your tastes."

Bree took the bottle and smiled. "Andoran Reisling?"

"One bottle to bless your coming trip, and the other to celebrate your victorious return."

"And to think you only started drinking yesterday!" Bree deftly opened the bottle of white wine. It smelt earthy. She offered Kelestair the first sip, but he shook his head.

"After you."

"I'll make a drunk out of you, yet." She took a deep gulp from the bottle. It was sweet and crisp, with plenty of floral notes. She handed it to Kelestair who took a tentative sip.

"Is it satisfactory?" he asked.

"It's perfect," she sighed. "Tastes like home."


	7. Chapter 7: Farewell

The Heartless Dead

Chapter Seven

Farewell

"I'm sorry, Star Flower."

Bree sighed. She sat on Trevvis' rooftop patio with her back pressed up against the short sandstone walls. Trevvis sat a length away from her, grazing his hands across her legs, which rested in his lap.

"You said that already, Trevvis," Bree groaned. "And _I_ already said I forgive you."

"I know. I just - "

"Sometimes you should just keep your mouth shut."

Trevvis smiled. "So someone keeps telling me."

"Well, whoever she is, she sounds incredibly clever. You should listen to her."

Trevvis chuckled. "If only she were here _all_ the time to give me advice."

Bree's smile slipped from her face. It always came down to this.

Trevvis was a wonderful man. He was caring, passionate and - while he was sober - she cared for him greatly. But each time she left he turned to alcohol to cope with his loneliness, and Trevvis was _not_ a nice drunk. He became rude, possessive and jealous. Bree _hated_ it. Passionately hated it.

Every time she came home she prayed to Cayden Cailean that Trevvis had stayed strong in her absence and every time her heart broke when she found her Trevvis gone, with that blasted drunk in his place. She was sure he blamed her for his drinking. Worse, she blamed _herself_. If she never had to leave, Trevvis would be sober, and they would be fine. Life would be perfect.

But, she couldn't stay. Cayden Cailean had entrusted her with a divine mission and that required her regular absence. Trevvis knew that. Surely the fault, then, lay with him? Bree sighed. It didn't matter how she tried to justify her actions or where she placed the blame. She felt horrible every time she left, horrible when she came home, and horrible the whole time she nursed him back to sobriety. And the guilt! The guilt clung to her like a shroud. It was only while she was out in the wilds hunting the gnoll slavers as her god had commanded her that she felt any measure of peace.

"You know I can't stay."

Trevvis' eyes lost their luster. "I know, I just wish - "

"So do I."

The first sliver of orange sunlight peeked its way over the horizon, casting the land in a brilliant glow. The shadows lengthened, then receded. Bree smiled. Dawn had come.

"Let's start over," she said. "Forget the past, and the fights. Forget the pain. Just... start again."

Trevvis smiled. "As long as we don't forget the love and the _making_ love."

Bree blushed. "I couldn't forget _that_ if I tried."

"I'm glad to hear it, Star Flower." He sighed. "I have a question then, to get off of my chest before our new beginning."

Bree raised an eyebrow. "Oh? What is it?"

Trevvis shuffled nervously. He turned his eyes from the sunrise to her face. He was anxious. Worried. His thoughts weighed heavily upon him.

"It's about your - " He frowned.

"You can ask me anything, Trevvis. I'll answer you truthfully."

He nodded. "It's about Santon and Kelestair."

Bree tensed. "What about them?"

"That they care for you deeply is plain, but I..."

"They're my friends. Of course they care for me."

"It is more than that!"

Bree shook her head. "No. It's not."

"Then you've never sought solace in their arms? Never kissed them or - "

Bree scowled. "Froth and foam, Trevvis! Of course not!"

"Have you thought about it?"

"I'm not a whore!"

"Not even when you didn't come home the other night?"

"I said _no_. Besides, I _did_ come home after worshipping with Kelestair, but you were passed out drunk in your own vomit, so I went to _my_ home to sleep instead."

Trevvis sighed in relief. "I was so - "

"Yeah, well, while we're on the topic of questions that need answering, I want to know why you call me Star Flower."

Trevvis chuckled.

"Cut it out!" Bree growled. "I know what a Star Flower is!"

"It is a beautiful white flower, whose petals turn red at the tips. Its stem is covered with soft golden hairs. They're - "

"They're poisonous! Is that what I am to you? Poison?"

"Who - "

"Brotis told me!"

"Brotis is a bitter, twisted, bitch. You shouldn't listen to her."

"At least she told me what your name for me means!"

"That is not - "

"It is! Am I poisoning you? Killing you? What is it?"

"A Star Flower is poisonous, but it is a form of self defense."

"So I'm dangerous?"

Trevvis laughed. Bree scowled.

"Yes, but that's not why you're my Star Flower."

"Then why?"

"A Star Flower is a companion plant. It is poisonous, which keeps predators away, but also protects all of the other plants nearby. It presence nourishes the surrounding plants, causing them to grow stronger, faster, and healthier. Just as _you_ cause all those around you to flourish. You protect us, and cause us to reach higher, to try harder, so that we are worthy of your attention and care. You inspire all of us to be, somehow, _more_ than what we are." Trevvis smiled. "And yes, you are deadly to those who try to eat you, as I'm sure the gnolls can attest."

Bree's frown shattered.

"You aren't poison, Star Flower. You're _life_."

She smiled. "You mean it?"

"I am never a greater man, than when you are in my arms."

"I love _being_ in your arms."

"And I love _you_."

Bree's heart melted. Her worries were forgotten. "When you're you - _really_ you, I mean, not the possessive drunken bastard that booze turns you into. But when you're just you, I... Oh, froth and foam! I'm not making any sense, am I?"

"None at all, Star Flower."

"You should really keep your mouth shut."

"You know someone told- "

Bree's heart fluttered. "I love you, Trevvis."

Trevvis' eyes widened. His smile outshone the rising sun. "I - "

"I hate you once the booze takes over, but I... I love _you_."

"I only wish I knew better how to cope with your absence."

"Well, a good start would be _not_ drinking."

"I know but - "

"No buts, Trevvis. I love you, but I can't take you drunk. You're cruel and you treat me as your property."

"I'm sorry, but - "

"No! I _can't_ take coming home to that anymore."

"You won't."

"I won't?"

"No. You won't have to. I won't drink anymore."

"You promise?"

Trevvis nodded. "I promise, Star Flower. You won't have to come home to that _other_ man again. It will be just you and me in the future. Forever."

"I should only be gone three weeks this time."

Trevvis' body tensed. He let out an audible hiss. "Three weeks?"

Bree's smile turned mischievous. She slid her legs beneath her and crawled over to Trevvis, drawing her body along his own. Need clouded his eyes. She pushed him down, onto his back and then straddled him. A groan escaped his lips.

She leaned overtop of him and whispered into his ear. "How about I give you a taste of what you have to look forward to when I return to find you sober?"

Trevvis ran his hands along her thighs but then paused. His eyes darted back and forth. "On the roof? Are you sure?"

Bree caught his eyes and nodded. She sat up, allowing her weight to fall gently upon Trevvis' pelvis. He hardened at her touch. She unbuttoned her blouse slowly, revealing her flesh to him in glimpses. The sunlight set her tanned skin aflame, and turned her blonde hair into a halo of golden light. She was radiant.

"Oh, gods, Star Flower... I love you."

Bree's heart skipped a beat and a shy smile spread across her face. His words affected her even more than his presence. She drew his hands up to her lips and kissed his wrist. "I love you too, Trevvis."


	8. Chapter 8: Thrice Hills

The Heartless Dead

Chapter Eight

Thrice Hills

Bree left Trevvis dozing on the roof in the early morning sun. She grabbed her gear and slipped out of town, hoping to skip any other farewells. She hated saying goodbye.

She headed east once she was out of town. Though the Three Jaws were located to the north, it would be easiest to find their camp if she stuck to the river, and there was no better place to do _that_ than in Thrice Hills. Besides, if she was being perfectly honest with herself, Thrice Hills meant even more to her than Kelmarane. She couldn't head off into the wilds again without at least stopping by to check on their defenses.

The journey was uneventful. She spotted a few wild hyenas in the distance and some scorpions at the side of the road, but they were a normal part of life in Katapesh. Nothing to worry over. A few months ago she had convinced Santon to send members of the militia along the roads between Kelmarane and Thrice Hills to ensure their continued safety. He had obviously kept up the patrols. Bree was grateful, of course, but the inactivity made her restless. After a week confined to the safety of Kelmarane she wanted to be doing something _useful_. Defending the roads would have been a welcome diversion. She sighed. She felt so _domesticated_.

The day had passed by in a monotonous blur by the time Thrice Hills finally appeared on the horizon. It was a small village that spanned the tops of three green hills nestled between two rivers. Smoke drifted up lazily from the village cook-fires, caught the sun, and turned into a brilliant, golden haze. Bree could smell turmeric, cardamon and ginger on the wind. Her stomach rumbled in response. She hurried the rest of the way, imagining all manner of foods she hoped to find over the cook-fires.  
When she reached the base of the first hill, she smiled. A large trench had been dug around the entire perimeter of Thrice Hills. It was six feet deep, six feet across, and ended at the angled slope of the hill. The earth in the trench was soft and loose. Weighed down by rocks on top of the loose soil was a massive fishing net. Here and there, amidst the fishing nets, a few young cacti had been planted. Bree followed the edge of the trench until she came across a series of planks lashed together and stretched out from one bank to the other as a makeshift, movable bridge.

Bree crossed the bridge and trudged up the hill, on the lookout for anything else out of the ordinary. She reached the cook-fires and hilltop without any other surprises. She frowned. She had been pressuring the people of Thrice Hills for almost a year to build defenses that could protect them against the gnolls and, though the trench was proof that she had made some headway, she found the villagers surprisingly resistant to her advice. She sighed as she eyed the homes and cook-fires spread before her. The villagers were proud, and stubborn. Granted, they would have to be to live within the shadows of the Brazen Peaks, but, surely their safety and that of their children was something worth sacrificing their egos for?

Bree caught sight of a weathered, old man who sat on a chair before the central cook-fire. His bronze, craggy skin - sure signs of a life under the desert sun - looked golden in the evening sunlight. Shadows danced around his brows, but the eyes below them were bright and vivid.

Bree weaved through the village, nodding at the people she passed. Finally, she reach the old man.

"Elder Parmeen," she greeted with a smile. "I see you finally took some of my advice."

The old man grinned. "Your pleas have not fallen on deaf ears, Bree."

"Just stubborn ones."

Elder Parmeen chuckled. "The people of Thrice Hills consider that a compliment."

"I didn't mean it as one." She sighed. "I had hoped for the sake of safety you would accept more than one of my suggestions."

The old man rose from his seat wearily. "Let us discuss this in private. It is hardly dinner conversation."  
Bree nodded and followed the Elder to his home. It was the largest building in the village and served as both a house, a shelter, a town hall, and a jail. Outside was a small, picket fence, built in the style of her homeland.

Elder Parkeen gestured to it with smugly. "One _wall_, as requested."

Bree smirked. "This isn't a wall, it's a fence."

Elder Parkeen laughed.

"I told you to build a perimeter wall, and fences around each property."

"This is the largest wall Thrice Hills will ever build."

Bree sighed. "You know how I feel about that, Parkeen. A wall will keep you safe from the gnolls."

"And you know how _we_ feel about that. We live in Thrice Hills. A _village_, not a fortress. We will not turn the home of our ancestors into a besieged encampment."

"It could save lives."

"At the expense of what? Our pride? Our hope? I will not allow my people to suffer the shame and fear such a construction would bring."

Bree sighed deeply. "Are there other fences going up, at least?"

"No. If the gnolls attack it is to the Hall on each hilltop that the people flee to, and so it is the Hall that we will fortify. The fence was built as you suggested," he gestured at the sharpened wooden pickets. "With punji sticks, point up, for planks."

"And the brush I suggested you grow around it?"

"We will use cacti. The planting starts tomorrow."

Bree nodded. "Place them five feet before the fence."

"Five?"

"If any hyenas or mounted gnolls try to leap the cacti, they'll land upon the fence and the force will - "

"Yes, I see. Five feet, then."

"And make them tall cacti."

"Of course. Would you like to see what else we built?"

Bree smiled. "I saw your trench. It's wonderful."

Elder Parkeen's eyes twinkled with pride. "Oh, it's not a trench."

Bree raised an eyebrow. "What is it, then?"

"It's a canal. If gnolls are spotted, we can lift a gate and flood the trenches. The soil will turn to a deep, sucking mud. After we remove the bridges the mud coupled with the fishing nets at the bottom should drown plenty of gnolls. "

"And those who swim?"

"Find a surprising amount of cacti beneath their paws, and a difficult edge to climb out of."

Bree smiled. "I'm impressed."

"Ah, but that's not all," the elder chuckled. "We've dug some fox holes around the hill."

"For offense, or defense?"

"Either. Any ambushes or punji sticks will have to be set upon sighting the gnolls."

Bree frowned. "Time may not be on your side. You should lay your traps ahead of time."

"The children like to play in them."

"You're letting kids play in fox holes?"

"It is the children who voted we dig the holes in the first place. Besides, anything we build must either be mobile, or serve another, less... deadly purpose. The people of Thrice Hills will not have their village turned into a war camp."

"Did you set the blacksmith to making caltrops?"

"There is no need to build what nature provides. The nutlets of the tackweed plant will serve well enough. We need only gather them when they begin to drop in a few more days time."

"And the abastis?"

"We are _not_ planting sharpened punji sticks around the perimeter of each hill."

"Then prepare for a temporary one. Collect the branches from trees and when the gnolls are spotted you can set them up on the slopes as a temporary obstacle. It will cause the gnolls to expose their chests and heads to your archers for a longer time."

Elder Parkeen's expression turned thoughtful. "As always, I will bring your suggestion before the villagers."

"I still say you should build a wall. You've got the perfect location and with the trenches already dug you could - "

"The people have already passed judgement on that issue. Your persistent disregard to our opinions will make the villagers more resistant to your other suggestions. If you do not wish to colour their prejudices against you - "

"Prejudices?" Bree cut in. Did they mistrust her for being a foreigner? After all she had done for them?

Elder Parkeen kept talking as if he had not been interrupted. "Then I suggest you let the matter drop."

"Do the people of Thrice Hills dislike me for my complexion? Am I just another condescending Northerner?"

Elder Parkeen smiled gently and shook his head. "You are always so quick to take offense. The colour of your skin makes no difference to us," he chuckled. "The people of Thrice Hills rarely listen to those who are not from _Thrice Hills_. Outsiders do not understand what it takes to live in the shadow of the Brazen Peaks. You should be proud they have entertained your proposals to the extent that they have."

Bree sighed. "Fine. But if you will make no wall, consider building a series of chevaux de frise."

"Of what?"

Bree frowned and tried to find the an appropriate translation. "It's a sort of movable wall used against cavalry, back home. You can build it from a log, or sawhorse. In its basic form it is a central beam with sharpened protrusions jutting from it in an x-formation. You can use spears, swords, wooden stakes. Whatever you like, really, as long as it's sharp."

"And these 'shev-doo-freeze' are movable?"

"Yes. When they're needed you just drag them out and place them wherever you want. Any gnolls trying to climb or circumvent them risk being injured - _and_ facing your archers, of course - and any wargs or hyenas have to jump over them, which often ends poorly."

"You will need to think of another name for them. My people won't accept something so obviously foreign."

Bree frowned. "You can call them hyena gutters, for all I care."

The old man raised an eyebrow. "I sincerely hope that when the day comes where you are blessed with children, you allow your husband to name them."

Bree scowled. "No worries of that, old man. I'm not the mothering type."

"Children are the light that brings hope to the world. The love that drives our hearts. Surely you, who fights for life so vehemently, will want to bear your own?"

Bree's frown deepened. She couldn't even keep her boyfriend out of trouble! She shuddered to think what would become of her children. Still, that was none of the elder's business! Bree pressed on, disregarding his question. "Why haven't you built a watch tower?

"We have."

Bree looked around, but spotted no towers or watch posts of any sort. She scowled at the old man before her. "No need to lie, Parkeen."

"I would never stoop so low." He gestured at the Hall behind them. Bree eyed the structure, but other than an old man who sat in a wooden chair atop its roof, she found nothing out of the ordinary.

"We _have_ a watch tower, and keen eyes to man it."

The man atop the roof waved down at Bree. She scowled in response. "That's not what I meant, and you know it."

Elder Parkeen chuckled. "How unfortunate for you. Now, cease your complaining and enjoy your stay."

"I would hardly call it a stay, Parkeen. I leave at dawn to hunt the Three Jaws."

"All the more reason to take what pleasure you can tonight."

Bree scoffed.

"Some of your fellows from Kelmarane are here."

"Militia members?"

The old man nodded. "Brotis, Yesper and Dullen. They came at your Sheriff's request to help keep us safe."

"And have they?"

"We have faced no worse than a trio of gnolls in the past month. They haven't had a chance to protect us. But, I have given them a new purpose."

Bree raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"I've put them to work training any who wish to learn the art of swordplay. Though our archers are skilled we have few villagers gifted with a blade."

Bree frowned. "I though your people were too _proud_ to take advice from outsiders. No more than a few kids turned up last time I offered to host lessons."

The old man laughed. "They _were_. However, after seeing you in action last month against that failed slaving raid, we have seen an... increase in interest. You have inspired many from the younger generations to learn."

Bree's frown softened. "I have some free time now. Perhaps I can - "

"Rest, Bree," the Elder insisted. "The Three Jaws are formidable and this is the last chance you will have to receive a full night's sleep. Do not throw away the luxury."

Bree sighed. Apparently doing something useful would have to wait _another_ day. "I have no need of a fancy bed, Parkeen. But I suppose, since this whole damned _village_ smells delicious, I'll try my best to eat you out of house and home."

Elder Parkeen laughed. "Anything for our _demanding_ benefactor."

Bree's eyes lit up. "That reminds me! Did you get the last shipment of weapons and armour I sent by caravan?"

"Yes, Bree. Now _go have fun_."

Bree ignored the old man's response. "Were there enough blades? I could send - "

"You are far too young to nag at me like and old woman, child."

"But, there's work to be done and - "

The old man sighed. "Go and eat something, or I will tell all of the eligible bachelors that you have an open space in your bed tonight."

Bree scowled. She had turned down enough young men from Thrice Hills without any sort of encouragement. Surely he wouldn't suggest she was open to advances? "You wouldn't."

Elder Parkeen smiled.

Bree frowned. "You are _devious,_ old man."

As she stalked downhill to the cook-fires she couldn't help but smile. She had missed Thrice Hills. The people she passed nodded at her out of friendliness, not awe. People spoke to her, but didn't simper or grovel. If a man flirted with her it was out of interest, not hope for power or prestige. Her opinions were met with discussion, not immediate acceptance. Sure, the people of Thrice Hills didn't take _all_ her suggestions, but here she was a _person_, not a hero.

Here she was _free_.


	9. Chapter 9: A Lonely Blade

The Heartless Dead

Chapter Nine

A Lonely Blade

Bree awoke in the pre-dawn hours feeling better rested than she had in months. Despite the multitude of possible reasons for this - she had eaten well, spent the day traveling and Kelestair _had_ warned her that she would only need a few hours sleep if she wore that ring he had given her - Bree suspected something greater was at work. A feeling of calm and determination had washed over her during the night, soothing her worries and troubles into petty trifles.

The determination was familiar to her. She was often driven by Cayden Cailean to complete dauntless tasks much larger than she herself should be able to accomplish. But the calm? The serenity? Where had those come from? Surely they were the result of more than just a good nights rest?

Bree shrugged as she swung her pack onto her back. She had a strong suspicion that whatever was causing the strange inner stillness was woven into the new gear Kelestair had given her. But which piece of clothing had he ensorcelled with a calming spell? Surely it wasn't the ring? That would have been the obvious choice, of course, but Kelestair was smart. Too smart. He knew Bree wouldn't have wanted any spells to pacify her emotions. There was no way he would have placed it in an obvious place! Or would he? Perhaps he was counting on Bree's assessment of his intelligence to confuse her...

Bree scowled. Did it even matter? More to the point, did Kelestair even _know_ a spell that could affect emotions? He could augment the physical prowess of others, but manipulate the emotions? She had never seen him cast a spell of that nature before. She sighed. Kelestair was no enchanter... Perhaps she was letting Tempest's memories seep through into her own? No, it couldn't be! She hadn't had any trouble controlling her blade since she first came under its sway over a year ago! It couldn't be Tempest, could it?

No. She was being paranoid. Her calm was just the aftereffect of a good night's sleep. In fact, it wasn't even calm she was feeling, but certainty. Certainty in her mission and certainty in her coming victory. Yes, that was it.

Certainty. Faith.

Those were emotions she could understand.

Bree walked out of her tiny room in the tavern's loft. Whatever was going on, one thing was certain. She had spent too much time lazing about in safe little towns. She was getting restless. Second guessing herself. Over thinking. What else could have caused her to be so confused she didn't even know what she was feeling?

The time for worrying was over. Her safe little holiday was coming to an end. She was heading out to stalk the most aggressive of the gnoll tribes in the region. _Alone_. It would be dangerous and she would need to keep her emotions in check. What did it matter where her certainty was coming from? She would _need_ it.

Bree dropped a golden coin stamped with the likeness of a genie on the tavern's bar. It was much more than she owed the barkeep for the use of a bed for a few hours, but Bree didn't mind. There were few things she supported more than taverns. She had spent the better part of her life in bars, after all - living, working, drowning away her sorrows and later, praying. Besides, the extra coin could buy her a fine toast! She walked behind the bar and perused the bottles of alcohol with glee. She chose a dark looking, stout ale and poured herself a full pint. She raised her glass to her roof and prayed.

"Bless my coming quest, my Lord. Lend me your courage, lend me your luck, and lend me your spirits!" Bree smiled at the hideously poor pun and downed the entire mug. "Cayden's will be done."

Bree placed her mug onto the counter beside the coin and strode out of the tavern. It was dark out. The moon was little more than a sliver in the sky and the stars were dim. Bree stood motionless for a full minute, willing her eyes adjust to the gloom. Her calm smile quickly dissolved into a frown, and then a scowl. Tipped tankard! No matter how hard she strained her eyes to see in the dark, her vision was no better than it had been last year. How had Dashki and Fudin managed to adjust themselves so well to the night?

Bree drew Tempest with a sigh. A familiar mould crept along her arm, from fingertips to elbow, as if she were drawing on a long glove. It chilled her more than she would have liked in the cold of night, but the soft blue glow its frosted blade gave off was invaluable to her. With the path ahead now dimly lit, Bree walked away from the safety of Thrice Hills into the dangers of the Brazen Peaks.

By the time the sun rose Thrice Hills was nothing more than a speck on the horizon. A distant memory. Bree had slipped into her holy hunt as easily as one would don a shirt. She watched her surroundings with cautious eyes, listened with attentive ears and sniffed at the air around her. She slipped through the rocky crags and clefts of the Brazen Peaks as if she were nothing more than a whisper on the breeze. She was silent. Unnoticed.

She did not expect to come upon the Three Jaws tribes for a week, at least, but they were not the only dangerous denizens that made these jagged peaks their home. Though the most common predators were lions, jackals, and monstrously sized scorpions, large blood-sucking lizards known as chupacabra were also common, as were rocs, griffins and harpies. Those who did not tread carefully in the Brazen Peaks did not live long.

Bree travelled during the day, trusting in Tempest's cooling presence to fend off the heat stroke that had plagued her during her early travels under the hot desert sun. She followed the river - not along the river bank, of course, that would have been a death wish! But amidst the rocks and small cliffs parallel to it, always keeping the life giving waters within sight. Each night she found shelter and bedded down only to awaken after a few hours fully rested. Though she would have liked to get moving as soon as she awoke she kept a silent vigil the rest of the night instead. She _could_ use Tempest to light her way, but she couldn't move silently with it clutched in her grip. Her noisy blundering coupled with Tempest's glow would make her a massive beacon to all the nocturnal hunters in the region. She had no doubt she could best any predators who came after her, but the noise of combat would only draw more and there was only so much Bree could handle when she could only see a few feet ahead of her.

Over the past year Bree had been forced to admit to some of her weaknesses, as Nes had pushed her to do before his death. Confidence had been the first she had noticed and she had worked hard in the intervening months to ensure she had the skill to back it up. Sympathy had been the second and though she was trying to conquer her emotions, her pity for the remaining members of the Wormhollow Tribe had cost her greatly against the Circle. It was not a mistake that she would allow herself to make again. The stakes were too high.

Her stubbornness was obvious to many, but Bree had adamantly decided that it was not a weakness. Stubbornness was a strength. Perhaps she would deal with it in the future. What she was coping with now was _restlessness_. She wasn't about to let impatience turn her into a drunken preacher! Not against the Three Jaws! That would mean her death and Bree was _not_ a woman ready to die. How could she join her Lord in eternal revelry if she had failed the task he had set before her?

How could she -

Bree paused.

She quirked and eyebrow and squinted her eyes. She thought she saw...

No. It was impossible! The Three Jaws should still be the better part of a week away!

Bree squinted her eyes tighter, and eyed the object near the river warily. It looked like a weapon, though what it was doing in the middle of nowhere, over ten feet from the river's edge with no sign of a corpse in sight, Bree couldn't fathom.

She scanned the surrounding area, looking for movement or signs of an ambush. The minutes passed by slowly, with only the sound of her breathing, the pounding of her heart and the rush of the river to mark the time. Eventually, Bree crept forth from the boulder she had been crouched behind and picked her way across the rocks and ridges to the blade.

It was a scimitar. Rather large and of middling quality. Its blade was rough, but not jagged. It was clearly of gnoll craftsmanship. A few ears and teeth had been twined around the hand guard marking it as once belonging to a member of the Three Jaws Tribe.

Bree eyed the rocks and surrounding area again. No gnoll would have given up his weapon freely and the odds of a one dropping a blade this size and not noticing were astronomical. So why couldn't Bree see any signs of a disturbance in the surrounding rocks? She hadn't expected to see footprints - the ground was too rocky for that - but the loose pebbles and scree should have allowed her to identify a disturbance of some kind... Still, she saw nothing.

The scimitar was much too far away from the river's edge to have come drifting with the current. Its bared blade wasn't worn or ravaged by the elements. It wasn't broken or chipped. Bree reached out tentatively and stroked the blade's crude edge. _Still sharp._ It couldn't have been here long.

But what were the Three Jaws doing this far south? They should be five days further into the Brazen Peaks, at least! Had Dashki lied to her about their whereabouts?

Bree shook her head. No. She wouldn't put it past him, of course. He was a lying cur who hated her passionately, but she had watched him as he spoke. His demeanor, his gestures, his eyes. He _hadn't_ lied.

Had the Three Jaws moved without telling him? Surely Dashki's old tribe mates didn't think he would betray them for _her_? They were the most terrifying of all the gnoll tribes in the entire country and had the egos to match. They couldn't have possibly thought Dashki would give them up for life in Kelmarane!

And how had this blade gotten here, anyway? There were no corpses or animal trails nearby. Perhaps it had been dropped by a flying predator? A griffin or a roc who had been feasting on a gnoll?

Bree sighed. Something about this didn't feel right.

She lifted her wineskin from her hip and held it up to the sky. "Lend me a little Cayden's luck, my Lord. I have a feeling I'm going to need it." She took a deep swig of her cheap, white wine, and replaced it at her hip. She crept back to the shadows of the surrounding rocks and outcroppings and continued her journey down the river's edge. A strange feeling sent a shiver down her spine. It wasn't fear, exactly, nor dread. It was more akin to apprehension. Her body tensed in response.

Bree swallowed her rising nervousness and shoved it down as deep as she could. Some gnolls could smell strong emotions and she could _not_ let herself be given away before she was ready. Not against the _Three Jaws_. Bree would need every advantage she could to come out of this alive.


	10. Chapter 10: The Three Jaws

The Heartless Dead

Chapter Ten

The Three Jaws

It was less than an hour before Bree saw further signs of gnoll activity, and no more than two before she began to worry. The howls and yips of the gnoll tongue travelled far - especially over the barren rocks of the Brazen Peaks - so why couldn't she hear their cries in the distance? And if the Three Jaws were as active hunters as the rumours said, then why hadn't she run into any scouts or patrols? Had they set an ambush for her? Should she wait them out?

Bree frowned. She couldn't keep second guessing herself. She would press on.

She made it only a few more paces before it hit her. The scent of death on the wind. Blood. A hint of rot. She sniffed again, deeper this time. It was fresh. No more than a day old.

Bree spared a glance back at the river. Her water skin was full. She would be fine.

She turned west towards the smell of carrion. She crawled over crevasses and down fissures, following her nose all the way. As the sun continued its path across the sky the scent grew stronger. She was getting close.

She topped the next rise and spotted a kettle of vultures circling lazily in the sky. There were at least twenty of the ugly birds and they seemed to be centered on the top of a nearby cliff. The cliff was at least fifty feet high and no doubt afforded a wonderful view of the surrounding area. She'd be spotted the instant she began her ascent. That wasn't even counting the three smaller crests she's have to cross over just to get to the cliff's base. Bree sighed. Would this ever be easy?

A breeze blew by and the stench of decay became overwhelming. She covered her mouth and suppressed the urge to gag. Bitter brew! What had the gnolls slaughtered up there?

She eyed the cliff top and lowered her hand, allowing the rot to invade her nostrils. She smothered her urge to heave. She'd have to grow accustomed to the smell before she began her climb. She took a few deep, tentative breaths. Cayden's curse, it stunk! She forced her disgust down, and made her way over to the first crest. She picked her way across it with ease, followed by the others. In no time at all she stood at the foot of the cliff. She eyed its face, looking for the best hand and foot holds. Planning the safest route.

It wasn't the climb itself that worried her, so much as the potential for being seen. Bree much preferred to skirt around any large promontory's, since the time it took to scale them left her visible for far too long. Unfortunately, though this cliff wasn't too high, it was very long. She didn't see an easy path around.

She had no choice. She would have to climb the cliff.

Bree took a deep swig from her wineskin, rubbed some nearby dust on her hands, and then set to scaling the rock face. It proved more difficult than she had thought - many of the hand holds she had planned on using proved unable to support her weight - but she made it near the top in good time. She had plenty of experience climbing the rocks of the Brazen Peaks, and wasn't about to let a little cliff get in her way.

When she neared the top she stopped. She clung to the rock face and strained her ears. The wind carried her the sounds of tearing flesh, flapping wings and angry squawks. No barks. No yips. No howls.

The gnolls had already moved on. Perhaps she could see them from the top.

Bree heaved herself up, over the ledge, climbed to her feet and froze.

The corpses of at least fifty gnolls and hyenas lay strewn across the rocks, between rows of blood-splattered tents. A wake of vultures numbering in the dozens hopped amidst them, tearing flesh and fur with razor sharp beaks. The death eaters revelled amidst the carnage.

Bree stepped forward in stunned silence. Someone had gotten to the Three Jaws before her? She laughed mirthlessly at the thought. Nonsense! Who else was crazy enough to take on the Three Jaws? More to the point, who else could have _succeeded_ in killing the Three Jaws?

A trio of vultures further ahead shrieked and hobbled off in their awkward, loping gait. They flapped their wings at a tent menacingly.

Bree froze.

Vultures aren't easily distracted from their meals. Something had disturbed them and with this much death around, she doubted it was just another vulture who didn't want to share his dinner...

Bree crept across the massacre and circled around the tents. She peeked around the corner. A massive, hairy, brute well over seven-and-a-half paces tall stood over the corpse of a gnoll. He was covered in thick, golden fur, and wore sparkling chain mail. A buckler was strapped onto one of his thickly muscled arms, and a morningstar hung upon his hip. He held something open in front of him - a book of some sort.

Bree squinted. She had seen many bugbears back home, but never had she even heard of one who could _read_. The book must have lots of pictures. She widened her eyes, opening them to the auras around her. Nothing foul lingered upon the bugbear. Strange.

Bree cocked an eyebrow and let her vision return to normal. Bugbears were massive humanoids, more bear than man. They were stocky, but fast, with flat, wrinkled facial features small, beady eyes and large triangular ears. They were a ferocious race who fed on fear as often as meat. It was said that they delighted in tormenting their victims for weeks, scaring them out of their wits before stalking and killing them one by one.

Bree eyed the bugbear before her again. He was large for his kind, and clearly powerful. His body was thick and muscular. His fur was neatly groomed and well cared for. The claws on his hands were shaved down into neat fingernails. His armour seemed to be made out of mithral, and his morningstar glowed slightly. It was made of a metal she didn't recognize and had faint runes written upon it in a flowing script. He certainly looked to be a warrior, but he was far too clean to have taken on the Three Jaws. Not a drop of blood was upon his fur or -

"What kind of being can bear witness to this carnage and not feel fear?"

Bree froze as the bugbear spoke. His voice was deep, but smooth. Cultured, almost. It certainly didn't fit his frame. He turned to her and rose to his full height. His eyes were a deep amber and his teeth were long and sharp. He wore an incredibly small pair of glasses perched precariously atop his pug-faced nose. It would appear comical if not for his rather... _dominating_ presence.

The bugbear's eyes widened for a moment, as if he had just remembered something. He tore the glasses from his face, shoved the book under his armour, and smiled in a rather terrifying manner. "I didn't do it," he growled.

Bree smiled. "I know. What's your name, bugbear?"

The bugbear's eyes widened, but he quickly replaced it with a menacing scowl. "I am Boden, the Terror!" he roared. "Scourge of the Pits of Katapesh!" He stalked forward until he stood no more than a pace away. His bulky frame towered over her. He leaned down and took a deep breath.

Bree held her ground.

"Your fear tastes delicious."

Bree smiled. "What fear?"

The bugbear grinned and stepped back. "Exactly," he mused aloud, his voice no longer gutteral, but smooth and lyrical. "Like I asked before. What manner of being can bear witness to this carnage and not feel fear?"

Bree shrugged. "I've gotten used to it."

"To wholesale slaughter? Your life must be dreadful, indeed."

Bree scowled. "And yours is all laughter and roses, is it?" She scoffed. "I know the reputation your kind holds. Death cannot be a new sight to your eyes, Boden the _Terror_."

"I am not like the others of my kind."

"You'd be dead by now, if you were."

Boden laughed. "I smelled the sweat upon your skin when you were still scaling the cliff. You would not have snuck up on me." He tapped his nose affectionately. "My sense of smell is too keen."

Bree looked up into the face of the massive beast before her. "I'm sure most people find you impressive, pal, but you don't scare me. And I _don't_ need the element of surprise to kill you."

Boden laughed again. "You are audacious, human! But, whether through delusion or confidence I cannot say. What may I call you?"

Bree held out her hand. Boden looked on with surprise, but covered his apprehension quickly. He took her hand gently in his own and shook it twice.

"I'm Bree."

Boden's eyes widened. "Bree? Of Kelmarane?"

Bree sighed, but nodded. Why is it even a stranger knew who she was?

The bugbear looked aghast. "You're Bree? _The_ Bree?"

Bree raised an eyebrow. "Yeah. I'm Bree."

"Knight Protector Bree? Queen of the Kulldis?"

"I already said yes."

"The Gnoll-Slayer? The Liberator? The Slave-Breaker?"

Bree smiled. "Slave-Breaker? I like that one."

The bugbear still gaped. "Bree of the Mouldy-Arm?"

Bree scowled. "I could do without that last title, but yes."

Boden looked rather dazed.

"Can I have my hand back, now?"

Boden dropped her hand as if it had burnt him then blushed furiously. Or at least she thought he was blushing. His nose turned from brown to red. "I... I'm sorry I just..."

"Yeah, yeah. I get it."

"No, I just though you'd be... Bigger."

Bree raised an eyebrow. "Bigger?"

"Much bigger." Boden pressed his hands together and rubbed them gently, then spread them before him, palms up. He looked like he was trying to figure out how to give her some bad news. "You don't exactly look... intimidating. Or... Capable."

Bree scowled. The nerve!

Boden smiled helpfully, but with his fangs and smushed-up bugbear face it came off as rather fierce.

"What are you doing here?" Bree sighed. "You certainly didn't kill the Three Jaws for me."

"You came here to kill them?" Boden exclaimed. He looked doubtful of her claim.

Bree rolled her eyes. "Yeah. That's what I do."

"All of them?"

"Yeah."

"Alone?"

"Do I look like I have company?"

"You must be drunk. I hear you drink a lot."

Bree scowled. "Look here, fuzzball! I'm a slave hunter, okay? And in case you haven't noticed, all gnolls in this region are slavers. And the funny thing about gnolls? They travel in packs. Get used to it."

"Of course, but... Alone? Certainly you could - "

"The odds weren't exactly in my favour here, okay? It's not like people are lining up around the block to go on certain death missions with me into the wilds."

Boden raised his hands in a placating gesture. "I thought you had friends to - "

"I do have friends!" Bree snapped. "I just... I don't want them to come with me."

"I think if I had friends, I would - " Boden blushed, but forged on "_want_ to spend time with them."

"I'm not going for a leisurely stroll, here, Boden. They could die."

"You could die."

"You think I don't know that?"

"I think everyone knows that. What I don't understand is why - "

"It's none of your business! I don't even know you."

"I told you who I am." Boden's dropped his voice to a gutteral growl. "I am Boden, the Terror! Scourge of the - "

"Tipped Tankard! I heard you the first time. Mind your own business."

Boden nodded. He looked a little sad, but hid it with practiced ease. "Very well. I have a question for you then, before I leave you to your own devices, if I may?"

Bree sighed. "What is it?"

"Is it true? What they say about Kelmarane?"

"Is what true?"

Boden smiled in a wistful sort of way. "I heard Kelmarane is a land of freedom, where any soul may find safety and welcome, no matter their race or heritage, so long as they are pure of heart."

Bree smiled. "That _is_ true."

"Even one such as... Well." Boden spread his hands out before him. His expression turned serious. "Even me?"

Bree nodded. "Of course."

Boden's features softened. "It sounded to good to be true... I had thought it a - Oh... Right. Never mind. I'll leave you to your work, Knight Protector Bree." Boden bowed deeply to Bree then turned and walked away.

Bree sighed. She had hurt his feelings. Perhaps she should invite him to help or... No. He would only drag her down. She worked alone. Always. She would... Bree frowned. Froth and foam, she must be getting soft!

Bree knelt down over the corpse of a gnoll and sighed. "Hey, fuzzball! You got any brains in that big head of yours?"

From across the camp she heard Boden chuckle. "I have been known to have a good idea or two."

"Make yourself useful and check out this corpse for me."

Boden returned to her side with a smile. He drew out his small pair of spectacles from his pocket. He looked at her nervously. Could you... Ah... What I mean is would you..."

"Spit it out."

"Turn around."

"Turn around?"

Boden sighed. "Yes I..." He eyed his glasses warily.

"I've seen you in them already, remember? And yes, you look ridiculous, but no, I won't laugh."

Boden's nose turned red, but he nodded and placed his glasses onto his nose. Bree maintained her poise, despite how ridiculously small they were for his face, and nodded at him. Boden smiled bashfully, then turned serious. He rolled over the corpse and began to list off features.

Bree wasn't paying attention. She had seen enough gnoll corpses to last a lifetime. It didn't matter to her what had happened to them. Gnolls fought for supremacy amongst each other all the time. With the dwindling numbers it was likely the Al'Chorhaiv hoping to earn the respect of the Carrion King. Even allied gnolls still fought each other for power and -

"...heartless."

Bree started. "What did you say?"

"I said, that the gnoll has had his chest cavity torn open, and his heart ripped out. Like all the other corpses here, he's heartless."

Bree paled. "Heartless?"

Boden nodded.

"Cayden's curse! They were right."

Boden's eyes widened. He inhaled deeply. "Bree you're... You're afraid."

"I should have listened! I should have... Oh, foul brew!"

"What is it?"

"They were right! Kelestair and Santon were _right_. They said that whatever had done this was dangerous."

"This? You've had heartless gnoll tribes before?"

"No. We've had some heartless dead but nothing like... Nothing like _this_. A few deaths, here and there but..." Bree sighed. She looked around the cliff top with new eyes. This was... This was... This was _bad_.

"But what?"

"Santon and Kelestair thought that whatever had done the killing was some kind of beast that was more dangerous than the gnolls. I didn't believe them. I left to hunt the Three Jaws Tribe instead of trying to track it, but if... If this thing, this _monster_ slaughtered the entire tribe then... Well..."

"Then what?"

"We're in trouble."

Boden frowned. He turned his gaze to the tents and area around him. "And you have no idea what manner of creature did this?"

"I know it rips hearts out with it's teeth."

Boden nodded and began to pace around the camp, walking around corpses and peeking into tents. He adjusted his glasses. Stroked his chin. Sniffed the air. Bree followed him, hoping he might find something she could work with. Something she had overlooked.

Boden led them to the far end of the camp, where the cliff sloped downwards gradually, onto a wide plateau. "There were some survivors."

"Really? Where?"

"I don't know, but they were afraid." He sniffed the air again. "There were three of them. Gnolls, by their musk. They were wounded." He began to walk down the slope, sniffing deeply every other step. "They fled... this way."

Bree gestured for Boden to continue. He nodded and set off. She followed him at what seemed like a snail's pace. The sun continued its decent across the sky.

"Oh, my."

"What is it?"

Boden adjusted his spectacles. "They made it here and then their fear faded."

Bree looked around. They were at the bottom of a canyon. It didn't look particularly safe, or well guarded. There was no shelter that she could see. No sign of any gnolls, either. "So where are they?"

"I can't track them by the scent of their fear any further but..."

"But what? Did we lose them?"

"The ground is rather soft here. See? There are some tracks over there." Boden pointed further along the canyon, but Bree couldn't see anything. Still, Boden seemed to see them. He followed the trail for a while. Leaning down over it with his glasses and nose mere handspans from the ground.

"They travelled this way, at a rather quick pace and joined up with... Oh, dear."

Bree frowned. "What?"

"They joined with a rather large group of gnolls and... I don't know. Insects of some kind."

Bree cursed. "The Al'Chorhaiv. Which way did they go?"

Boden followed the tracks for a while and then nodded. He pointed south. "That way, but it seems our gnoll survivors didn't make it."

"What do you mean?"

Boden pointed behind a boulder. "They're dead. Heartless."

Bree dashed behind the boulder. The gnolls bore no tribe symbol but were pierced with all manner of bones and blades through every imaginable appendage. They were definitely Three Jaws.

"Foul brew!" What had happened here? Had the gnolls been beset upon by the beast and - No! What were the odds of the only surviving members of the Three Jaws Tribe being the only gnolls killed during the monsters attack on the Al-Chorhaiv? It couldn't be a coincidence. "This cursed beast is trained! It has to be! The Al'Chorhaiv are using it as a weapon!" Bree felt a sudden lurching in her stomache. She was nervous. Frightened even. She hadn't been this worried in months. She took a deep breath. She needed to keep a clear head. _Cayden protect me. Lend me your courage._ She took a deep breath again and pushed her fear down as far as she could. Smothering it. Another breath and she forced her nervousness down even deeper. She was fine. She could do this.

"That's impressive, you know."

"What?"

"Your control."

Bree scoffed.

Boden nodded and took a deep sniff at the air. "Your fear was delicious. Rich and..." Boden blushed. "Uh... I mean you were scared and then... nothing. It was gone just like that. Your handle of - "

"It's not me. It's my god. Cayden Cailean makes me more than I am."

"It takes a special soul to use such a divine gift."

Bree shrugged. She knew her god had blessed her, but she didn't understand why. She was nothing special. Nobody important. She had no special gifts until he gave her some. Surely he could have found a better vessel to enact his will? Bree sighed. His reasoning didn't matter. She was His and He was hers. His favoured soul. She would pull through. She _had_ to. He was counting on her. "Which way are they going, exactly?"

Boden eyed the tracks again and pointed south.

"You're sure?"

He nodded and removed his glasses. "I'm positive."

South? What would they run into going south from here? Bree eyed the sky and her surroundings. More importantly, where was she? "I have to get higher."

Boden nodded. "We passed a slope a mile or so back over - "

"No time." Bree examined the canyon walls for the easiest route and then started to climb. She heard Boden give a grunt of surprise, but when she was part way up he started to follow her. Bree smiled. The brute continued to impress her.

The view was spectacular from the top of the canyon. She could see for miles in each direction. She turned her gaze to the south just as Boden heaved himself over the ledge and rose to his feet.

"There they are," she said. "See that dust trail? The whole tribe must be on the move."

"A war march?"

"Could be. They're moving fast." Bree followed their path across the horizon and searched her memory. What would they come across that way? The oasis? No, she was further west than that. They were going too far east to be on their way to Kelmarane and...

"By the light of the Starstone..." Bree cursed. "They're heading for Thrice Hills!"

"Thrice Hills?"

"It's a small village I visit a lot and - Oh, gods! They'll be slaughtered! I have to get there! I have to..."

"A village? You can't stop an army by yourself."

"I have to go! I have to - "

"I'm coming with you."

Bree looked at Boden as if he were mad. "You could die."

"Innocent lives are at stake. I'm coming with you."

Bree shook her head. "No, I - "

"I'm not asking your permission."

"No." Bree frowned. There was a reason she had met this strange bugbear. A reason Cayden Cailean had led her to him and it was _not_ so they could die together in Thrice Hills. It was so they could _save_ Thrice Hills. But they would need help. "I need you to get to Kelmarane."

"Kelmarane? But - "

"Listen!" Bree shouted. "Go to Kelmarane. It won't take you more than a day if you hustle. When you get there, go straight to the Sheriff's office and ask for Sheriff Santon Synger. Tell him that the Al'Chorhaiv have the heart-eating beast and they're on their way to Thrice Hills. Tell him I said that he needs to haul ass to Thrice Hills as fast as he can. Make sure he brings the Militia, and Kelestair. But leave the Deputies. If we fail they'll be needed in Kelmarane. Understand?"

"Yes, but what will you do?"

"I'm going to take a short cut and try to beat the gnolls to Thrice Hills. If I make it I can get the village prepared. We won't last long, but we'll be able to stall until help arrives."

"Are you sure you can - "

"Go!" Bree shouted.

Boden nodded. "I'll get help. But you had better stay alive. I look forward to splitting some gnoll skulls with you."

Bree smiled grimly and offered Boden her hand. He took it and shook it gently.

"Thank you, Boden."

Boden smiled in a lopsided, terrifying kind of way. "Glad to be of service, Knight Protector Bree."

Bree nodded and took off at a sprint across the plateau. She had a lot of ground to make up, but the gnolls were traveling in a large group. They would take the easiest route, not the most direct, and they needed to rest much more than she did.

She could beat them to Thrice Hills.

She _would_ to beat them to Thrice Hills.

She _had_ to.


	11. Chapter 11: Run

The Heartless Dead

Chapter Eleven

Run

Bree ran.

She ran as hard and as fast as she could. She took every shortcut she knew. She climbed over every obstacle in her path without hesitation or regard for her safety. She ran in the open. She spared no thought for the predators, not now. Not anymore. All she gave thought to was time.

Time. She didn't have nearly enough.

She had to make it.

She ran until her legs ached and her lungs burned. And still she kept running. She ran until her breath came in ragged gasps and her throat cried out for water. And still she kept running. She ran through the evening, and through the sunset. When it was dark she drew Tempest and kept running.

She was tired. So tired! But she couldn't stop. If she stopped she doubted her ability to start again. No! She couldn't stop. Wouldn't stop. She had to keep going.

Running... Running...

Morning came. Tempest was sheathed. She could run faster without it.

Run. Run. Why was she running?

Had to keep running...

Time became fluid. Sunrise lasted and age and then suddenly it was night.

She was delirious. When had she last rested? Eaten?

Bree prayed. Prayed for strength. Prayed for the willpower to keep putting one foot in front of the other. Her mind strayed.

She was dancing. Singing. Drinking. It was a party! The best that she had ever been to. And a man was there. A man that she swore she knew, but couldn't quite place. His voice was smooth and sweet as honey. His smile made a warmth spread through her body. His voice was joyful and unrestrained. He told her to keep going. She laughed. Of course she'd keep going! She could party all night long!

"I'm just getting started!" she boasted.

The man smiled. "Prove it."

Bree's body staggered on throughout another day and night. Prayers and half formed words tumbled unbidden from her lips.

_Prove it._

Run... Run... Keep running...

Dawn came.

Bree stumbled into Thrice Hills.


	12. Chapter 12: An Unexpected Ally

The Heartless Dead

Chapter Twelve

An Unexpected Ally

There were few things Brotis liked better than a group of pliant young men hanging upon her every word. Those things that did invariably included a vast amount of sweat, blood or both. However, since it was unlikely she would have a chance to bloody her blades in the _boring_ town of Thrice Hills, the young men would have to do.

There were twelve of them arrayed before her, all between the ages of sixteen and twenty-five. They were rather attractive. Some of them were muscular, but others were lithe. They were an enthusiastic audience, though the younger ones were, perhaps, a little too eager.

Two weeks ago Elder Parkeen - that ancient snake! - had all but ordered her to assist in the training of any villagers who wished to learn the art of swordplay. He had made it seem a reasonable request and payed her a heavy dose of flattery, but Brotis knew better. Since that nosy witch, Bree, had stormed through Thrice Hills waving around her shiny sword and severed gnoll heads there had been an increase in interest in the more bloody forms of death dealing. The old goat wanted Brotis to teach the villagers to be like _her_. Poison.

He had no authority over her, of course. Brotis was a member of Kelmarane's Militia, and was always _offered_ missions, never given them. Even while she was working, Sheriff Santon gave her suggestions and guidelines more than orders. He was a free-form sort of employer. Full of enticing offers and playful winks. Unfortunately, he knew her better than she cared to admit - the smooth bastard! - and knew just what would entice her to come to this backwater hellhole.

Brotis was not a woman who chased after frivolous things. She liked a sparkling necklace, or a silken robe as much as the next woman, but it was other things that really motivated her. Less tangible things. Things like power.

And here, in Thrice Hills, he had convinced her she would find it. He was right, of course. Brotis had not been disappointed in that respect. Thrice Hills was a sheltered place, so with a few bats of her eyelashes and a sultry saunter through town she had the interest of all the single - and some decidedly-not-so-single - men in town. She had the women's interest too, of course, though for entirely different reasons. While the men _wanted_ Brotis, the women both wanted to _be_ her and wanted to _hurt_ her. Such was the nature of jealousy. Brotis was used to it. Besides, being envied held its own sort of power.

Still, Thrice Hills was a small village full of proud people with old-fashioned morals. This was not a place where she could flaunt her assests or accomplishments. Her conquests needed to believe they were special. That _they_ had done the wooing, not her. An unfortunate prospect, but not insurmountable. Brotis was raised in a world of lies and subtlety. Thrice Hills would pose little problem.

So when that Old Goat flattered her like a common tart, and pandered to her more base natures Brotis was neither fooled nor insulted. She had worked rather hard to cultivate her image, after all, and it worked immeasurably well. Still, she had accepted his offer and payment, blushing shyly at the compliments and fluttering her eyelashes in a most sickening display of docility. Shoes and a new robe, indeed! Wait until the cobbler saw her order for shoes! He would need the blacksmith's help, of course. And her own. Concealed blades were tricky business in men's boots, never mind in fashionable women's footwear. She'd have to ensure he knew how important _discretion_ was to her. Nothing that couldn't be cured with a little blade-work. What kind, however, would depend on the cobbler.

Brotis had organized the students into three classes. Yesper was given the beginner's class which consisted mostly of over-eager children, and the old. On the surface, this was due to Yesper's less-than-stellar melee skills, but really it was out of spite. Yesper hated children, and Brotis hated Yesper. She really shouldn't have taken that damascus curved dagger from the treasure chest a few years back. Brotis would never forgive her.

And that bastard Dullen! He _always_ sided with Yesper! The pig had been struck stupid by Yesper's thighs years ago and had yet to return to the thinking world. Still, Brotis couldn't fault Dullen for Yesper's wiles. Brotis herself had used the same tactics on more men than she could count. Never for so long, though. Didn't Yesper ever get bored? Yearn for a challenge? Tempt someone new? She didn't love him, did she? Brotis suppressed a shudder at the thought of such sentimentality. Yesper had _no_ imagination.

Brotis had given Dullen the intermediate class. He was a better swordsman than Yesper, certainly, but he also angered her less. His group consisted of the middle-aged, the women, the smart and the ugly. Brotis' own group was called the advanced group, and consisted of attractive and energetic young men with fine complexions and facial structure. She had picked them for their looks, eagerness and gullibility. Any man too smart would throw an unwelcome complication into her plans. Some of them were even decent with a blade.

She stood before her class in a sun-baked clearing that acted as a village meeting place. It was the highest point on al'Harad hill, the most northern of the three hills that made up Thrice Hills. It was an ugly hill, if one could be said to be uglier than the others, but was the most prestigious. Some sheriff and his wife had died here a few decades ago to protect the village. Presumably that was back when Thrice Hills had been _worth_ protecting. The fools. All that bravery and all they got was an ugly hill with their name on it.

They advanced class gave Brotis their full attention. They watched her every graceful motion and listened to her every whispered word. They were just starting for the day and were in the midst of warming up. Brotis stretched her arm across her body and held it by the elbow with her other arm. She angled her arm so it pushed her breasts up in what could be considered an accidental fashion. The men mirrored her actions, though with considerably better form and less cleavage. A few of the young ones sniggered amongst themselves and puffed up their chests - as if they were the only ones enjoying the show. She caught the eyes of each of the men in turn. A few of them smiled or winked at her. She blushed innocently at them, and fluttered her eyelashes as appropriate. These small-town men did so love a sweet, bashful woman.

How demeaning.

Still, the subtlety required made for good sport.

Brotis stretched her other arm across her body, luxuriating in their attentions as before. She would have them spread their legs next, and reach down to touch their toes. What better way to judge their flexibility? Then they would -

Brotis paused mid-stretch and squinted at the horizon. A figure was running from the Brazen Peaks towards Thrice Hills. They were a long way off, yet, and moving rather slowly, but they lurched about in a strange manner, as if wounded or dying.

The men paused with a disgruntled look upon their faces and glanced around to see what had put a stop to their rather enjoyable training. A few sighed. Another grumbled. Brotis ignored them all.

"It's just some fool who didn't plan for the dangers of the Brazen Peaks," one of the men told her. He was the strong one, with biceps the size of melons.

"Foreigners," another laughed. He had a wiry frame and rough, calloused hands. "They think the wilds will just bow before them."

The others nodded.

It was likely, of course, but something didn't feel right. And Brotis was _not_ a woman to ignore her instincts. They had kept her safe through too much. This was -

The men chuckled amongst themselves, perceiving her interest as worry. One stepped forward to console her, but she raised a hand to hold him back.

"Quiet," she ordered.

The man stopped in his tracks, surprised at her terse tone. The others fell quiet. This was _not_ the Brotis they were used to. _This_ Brotis was strong and full of confidence. Her tone brooked no argument.

Silence fell on al-Harad Hill.

The figure lurched closer, stumbling as they went. The sunlight hit their long hair and made it shine like gold. Brotis' frown deepened. She knew that hair. Poison had returned.

One of the men spoke. "It's Bree," he breathed in awe.

Another of the men laughed. "The wilds finally bested her, have they?" His voice had a rather cruel tone to it.

The first man scowled. "Never! Bree would - "

"Of course it did! Look at her! She's running back to Thrice Hills with her tail between her legs!"

Brotis' frown turned nasty. The boy had obviously been turned down by Bree in the past or he would not have found such enjoyment at the thought of her failure. The pompous fool was angry for allowing a woman a choice! Brotis made a mental note to demote him to the intermediate class. Even with those lavishly full-looking lips he didn't deserve her attentions.

The men around her continued boasting.

"Silence!" Brotis ordered.

The jealous man continued. "She's just been beaten by the wilds, flower, no need to - "

"You are a fool." Brotis snapped.

The men around her laughed.

Bree would not allow herself to be beaten by the _wilds_, of all things. She had become quite a smart survivalist over the past year. That coupled with her irritating stubbornness made it impossible! Bree couldn't fall victim to something so... mundane.

Had she been beaten by the Three Jaws? Despite what the others may have thought Bree's odds were alone against a pack of gnolls, Brotis didn't doubt her prowess. She recognized in Bree a fellow woman who could get what she wanted, when she wanted it, no matter the odds. The men back home severely underestimated her. Or so she had thought...

Had she been wrong? _Had_ Bree been defeated by the Three Jaws Tribe? No! And if she had been there was certainly no way she would come back like that! Bree was far from pathetic. She wouldn't flee from her loss, wounded or otherwise! Bree would have come back victorious, or not at all. There was no in between for women like them. No chance of failure.

Bree had _not_ been forced to run. She _couldn't_ have! There was no way Brotis' rival would fall so far!

But, then... What was wrong? Why _was_ she running?

Brotis paled. Whatever the cause it had to be big. She may have a chance to whet her blades, after all...

Brotis ran down the hill and the men followed her. She had trained them well in _that_, at least. She reached base of the hill just as Bree staggered, and pitched forward, landing facedown in the dirt. Brotis cursed and allowed her throaty Qadiran accent to take over. She would worry about appearances later. This was more important.

"Fetch a healer!" she ordered over her shoulder.

A few of the younger men scurried off back up the hill. Brotis leaped over the trench at the base of the hill, landed in a roll and kept running without missing a beat. The men ran around to the nearest crossing. Brotis fell on her knees at Bree's side and checked for a pulse. It was faint, but incredibly rapid. It fluttered like a caged bird in her chest. Her skin was dry and hot to the touch.

The stubborn fool! What had she gotten herself into this time?

Brotis rolled Bree over. She was unconscious and looked like she should have been for a few miles, at least. How had she kept going? Bree had no visible wounds, but was obviously dehydrated. Her lips were chapped and bleeding, her tongue was swollen and despite the heat she didn't have enough fluids to sweat.

"Fetch water," someone ordered. Brotis didn't bother to check who it was.

"No," she interrupted. "Fetch wine."

"Wine? She's dehydrated! She - "

"She needs wine!" Brotis yelled. "The white, not the red. And make sure it's the expensive kind."

"But,"

"Now!"

The man ran off and Brotis nodded. She knew Bree better than most. What better way to plot a rival's downfall than through intimate knowledge of their habits and affairs? Despite the need for hydration, Brotis knew she worshipped that attractive, drunken god from the north. She had seen Bree drink and most importantly she had seen... _strange_ things. Even Brotis had to admit that Bree had powers granted to her from the gods. Alcohol was no longer booze in her hands but a holy draught. It sharpened her mind when it should cloud judgment, revived her when is should knock her out and invigorated her when she was weary. For Bree, wine would do a good deal more than water. Especially if it was the good stuff. Bree preferred her wine expensive and white. Such strange tastes the Northerners had. She herself preferred a strong dash of arak mixed with at least two-thirds water.

Brotis looked around but found the healer still hobbling his way down the top of the hill. She sighed. The useless, old worm. She pointed at the three strongest of her students. "You three, carry her up the hill."

The men nodded and moved to obey her at once.

"And be gentle! If you make her worse I'll ensure every wound is revisited upon you tenfold!"

The men paled, but lifted her relatively smoothly. Brotis frowned. Women like Brotis and Bree deserved better. That healer had best be smarter than he was nimble or there would be hell to pay!

Bree had to be in top form.

Brotis had no need for a weak rival.


	13. Chapter 13: Awakening

The Heartless Dead

Chapter Thirteen

Awakening

Bree was dreaming.

There were voices. Lots of voices. Familiar voices.

Brotis was speaking to her -

Scratch that. It was a nightmare...

"Wine... Important..."

At least Brotis was talking about something enjoyable. Perhaps it wasn't a nightmare after all. She could put up with Brotis if she came bearing wine. Of course, Brotis was more likely to give her a knife in the back than anything else.

"No! ...wouldn't have! She's stronger..." Brotis' voice was hoarse and phlegmy. She was letting her native accent show through. She must be upset.

Bree tried to move again, but couldn't. She was tired. So tired! Why did she want to move at all?

"..running...days..."

The voices tugged at Bree's consciousness.

Running, Brotis had said. Running?

Why was she running?

It must have been important. She hated running...

Perhaps it was a dare? Did she have something to prove?

Prove it.

Prove it?

Prove what?

She had worked so hard, and run so far because...

Cayden's Curse! The gnolls!

Bree struggled again, willing her body to move. It was heavy. Unresponsive. Like her limbs had been turned to stone.

A voice she didn't recognize spoke. "She needs to rest. Your presence will only wear her out."

"No!" yelled Brotis. "Something is wrong! I need to speak to her!"

"She's unconscious! She can't speak to anyone!"

"She'll speak to _me_."

Bree tried to nod. Twitch her limbs. Something! Anything to show she was listening! But her limbs wouldn't obey. She tried to growl in frustration, but even that failed.

"She passed out from the heat, dehydration and exhaustion. She won't be able to speak for days! Especially if you keep ordering the boys to force-feed her wine while I'm out!"

Bree's frustration grew. She needed to talk to someone! Anyone! Brotis!

Bree heard the sound of steel being drawn. "Listen to me you stubborn, old fool! You will let me in or I will paint this room with the fluids from your more sensitive parts."

Brotis!

The man sputtered stupidly.

Brotis! "Brotis!" It came out a croak, but it was enough. The healer crashed into something across the room and a pair of smooth, perfumed hands gripped her shoulders.

"Tell me what did this to you, Bree. Tell me what's coming."

Bree? She had called her Bree. Not Poison. Not Witch.

Bree.

She moved her mouth, trying to force it to speak, but nothing happened. No sounds came out.

"Get ahold of yourself. Here."

Bree felt a wineskin being pressed against her lips. She drank greedily. The wine within hit her throat and sent shivers down her entire back. It tasted so good! Invigorating. Tipped tankard, how she had missed this!

"The stubborn, old pig wouldn't let me bring you your liquor. The fools."

Bree drank until the wine from the bag trickled to a stop.

"They say you were overcome with thirst and heat like some wilting flower. Don't you dare give me some poor excuse like that. You'll make us both look bad."

Bree opened her eyes a crack. The sunlight stung and she squeezed them closed again.

"I know something's coming. I can feel it in my bones. Now stop fainting and tell me what made you run for the Hills. These fools won't act on my word alone."

"Gnolls..." Bree managed to croak.

"Gnolls? How many?"

"Too... many..."

"In the wilds? No. They couldn't be in the Peaks still, could they? You wouldn't have run here for that. They're coming here, then? Is that why you nearly died of heatstroke? To get here before they did?"

Brotis was either incredibly good at guessing games, or she knew Bree far better than she cared to let on. "...yes."

"You stupid, sentimental girl." Brotis sighed. "Rest now, Bree. We'll need your Poison when the gnolls come through. I'll get the town ready. Do you want Tempest?"

Bree nodded. Tempest's presence always comforted her.

Brotis pressed her scimitar into her hands and drew the sheath off. A cooling wave washed over her. Something was forced into her other hand. She gripped it's handle tightly. Even blind she knew what it was. Her favourite, copper tankard. It was a symbol of her devotion to her god, Cayden Cailean. Bree smiled.

"Thank... you...Br - "

"Keep it to yourself, Poison. This doesn't change anything."

Despite her surroundings, Bree smiled.

"I mean it," Brotis hissed half-heartedly. "I still think you're a bossy, witch with incredibly poor taste in men and clothing."

Poor taste in men? Didn't Brotis want Trevvis for herself? Wasn't that what this had all been about?

"...Why?" Bree croaked.

"Why?" Brotis mused. "Why not? You pranced into my life with your foreign eyes and sunlight hair. You had our leader wrapped around your finger before he even laid a hand on you, which I admit spawned a good deal of professional jealousy within me. Trevvis wasn't much to look at, but he kept us together. He kept us safe. I hadn't had so much fun in a long time. And then he was gone in the blink of an eye, and with _you_."

"I've lived through hard times and I was... scared they would return if things changed. And then you came, and things changed, and I hated you for it. But things didn't get worse. They got better, in fact." She sighed. "So, I still hate you, because that's what I'm good at, and because a rival is better than a friend. I find it makes me work harder. Don't you? Tell me you haven't been running around slaughtering gnolls just for the religious fervor?" Brotis chuckled. "I know you better than that. You love your god, of course, but you also want to show me whose the better woman. You want _me_ to want to be _you_, just as I want _you_ to want to be _me_." Brotis laughed again. Then fell silent. "Women are always better enemies than friends..."

"Let me give you a piece of advice, Bree. From one heartbreaker to another. Your boyfriend is dead weight. You need to learn when to cut and run."

Bree would have scowled if she had the energy. Trevvis was a good man! She loved him! He made her happy.

Brotis chuckled lazily. "Now, I know you're good at the cutting part. We've all seen your blade at work, but the running?" She laughed without mirth. "Well, as these past days have shown, running isn't your strong suit, dear."

Brotis stood and Bree heard her make her way across the room. A door opened. Sounds from outside drifted in.

Brotis spoke quietly from the door. Her accent was gone. She sounded just like every other native of Katapesh. "Don't let Trevvis bring you down. That's _my_ job."

This time, Bree managed to smile.

Brotis would take care of Thrice Hills for her. Brotis would wake her when the time came. For now, all she needed to do was rest.

Bree clutched Tempest tightly in one hand, and her copper tankard in the other. She slowed her breathing and drifted off to sleep with a prayer upon her lips. She dreamt of men with honey voices and women with enemies for friends.

On the floor across the room, amidst broken jars and ruined poultices, the healer of Thrice Hills opened his eyes. He didn't care _who_ came to visit Bree next. He'd let them in and get out of their way. Those foreign women were dangerous.


	14. Chapter 14: A Survivor

The Heartless Dead

Chapter Fourteen

A Survivor

Bree awoke a few hours later feeling much better. Her limbs responded to her commands - albeit, sluggishly. She was able to speak without difficulty, and her heart rate had slowed. She was exhausted, though, and had a headache that felt as if a giant were beating her over the head with a tree trunk.

Bree scowled, but forced herself to rise from her bed. She got dressed, sheathed Tempest, and hooked her copper tankard onto her hip before striding out into the sun on shaking legs. The people of Thrice Hills milled about her in chaos. Everywhere she looked people were dragging brush and cacti, carrying wooden posts, sharpening punji sticks, or strapping on quivers and armour. There was a sort of frantic energy in the air. Not afraid, so much as anxious. The people of Thrice Hills were used to attacks from gnolls, but not used to being prepared for the attacks. Bree frowned. All this work, and it wouldn't be enough. Not if Santon didn't come with help from Kelmarane. Had Boden arrived yet? How long did they have to hold the gnolls off?

What if -

No. There was no time for doubt. Santon and Kelestair were on their way. Bree would help hold Thrice Hills until they arrived. Everything would be fine.

Bree spotted Elder Parkeen across the clearing and made her way towards him. He was in the midst of ushering a group of children and elderly into the Hall.

"Where do we stand?" she asked him as she approached.

He sighed. "In front of the Hall. Is your brain so muddled you could not tell, child?"

Bree scowled at him. "I'm serious, Old Man. How are the preparations?"

"I see your brush with death has not gifted you with a sense of humour."

"This is no time for jokes, Parkeen."  
"There is always time for a bit of humour, Bree. We must laugh loudest when the night is darkest."

Bree's gaze turned somber. "Elder..."

"_That_ bad?"

Bree nodded. "I sent word to Kelmarane. Help is on the way. Now how are the defenses?"

"The canals have all been filled. The cacti are all in place. We've set up the makeshift abastis' and placed tackweed nutlets along all the main approaches. The fox holes are prepped with punji sticks and the hyena-gutters you requested are being hauled into place as we speak."

Bree smiled. "You built them already?"

Elder Parkeen nodded. "Yes, well... With a name like _that_ how could we resist?"

"And the Halls?"

"They've been fortified as much as possible. The fences and cacti are in place. The elderly and the children are making their way inside. If things take a turn for the worst they will retreat into the hidden bunkers. There are a series of underground tunnels from there that lead out of the village."

Bree cocked an eyebrow. "I wasn't aware Thrice Hills was home to escape tunnels. I thought you were too proud for such measures."

"We are. But that doesn't mean we would condemn our children to death along with us. We will keep our young ones safe, at least."

"What about the archers?"

"Ready and alert. We have a triple guard on each watch tower, and your Militia members have organized a strike force for each of the hills."

"So we're all set?"

"We are as ready as we will ever be."

Bree nodded.

"Are you going to tell me what we're expecting?" Elder Parkeen asked.

Bree looked at the villagers passing by. "Come inside?"

Elder Parkeen raised an craggy, old eyebrow, but nodded. He followed her into the healer's home without comment.

"I found the Three Jaws Tribe, but they were dead. All of them."

Elder Parkeen paled.

"They had their hearts ripped out by some monster that the Al'Chohaiv have trained. They're using it as a weapon. And now they're on their way here. All of them. I sent for aid from Kelmarane, but we'll have to hold the gnolls off until they arrive."

"...This... monster. It rips out hearts, you say?"

Bree nodded. "Yeah, but I don't know much more than that. Why? Do you know what it is?"

Elder Parkeen rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "No, but... We have had a series of dead turn up lately. Their hearts were torn from their chests, just as you say. I do not know what could have done such a thing, but there was a survivor."

"A survivor?!" Bree exclaimed. "Where is he? What did he see? Take me to him! We need to - "

"I cannot. He died this morning."  
"I thought you said he survived?"

"He did, but he was not the same since the encounter. His waking hours were filled with mad ravings. He wouldn't eat or drink. He couldn't sleep unless we drugged him. The poor soul was terrified. He died this morning, though from what I cannot say. The healer says it was a result of the trauma. He was scared to death, though he took a while to pass on."

"Scared? Of the creature or the experience?"

"I cannot be sure. He wasn't entirely sane, when he returned to us. From what I could gather, the creature ate the hearts of his companions. He called it Winged Death, or the Hungry Shadows, depending on his mood. In either case he said the beast had the shadow of a man, but that it flew on the wings of a bird. It had a large crown of horns atop its head and its cries sounded like the 'dying screams of a tortured soul.' "

A shiver surged down Bree's spine. Why did that sound familiar..?

A winged beast, with antlers and the shadow of a man...

Of course! The peryton!

Undrella had spoken of a beast like that over a year ago. She had said it was in service to Kardswann, King of the Kulldis Tribe. But, after they had taken on Kardswann and freed Kelmarane, they hadn't seen a single feather belonging to the beast. Bree had assumed it was a story concocted by Undrella and Kardswann to strike fear into their enemies hearts. But if Undrella hadn't made the beast up, where had it been hiding?

Bree sighed. The monster would easily circumvent their defenses, but there were many strong archers in Thrice Hills. They should be able to hold it at bay. A more pressing concern was the scorpions that the Al'Chorhaiv employed. They would swarm over and around everything but the canals... She had best tell the healer to prepare plenty of anti-toxin and -

A sharp, tolling bell cut Bree's thoughts short.

Elder Parkeen's eyes widened.

It was the alarm bell.

War was coming to Thrice Hills.


	15. Chapter 15: Dust and Doom

The Heartless Dead

Chapter Fifteen

Dust and Doom

Bree dashed out of the healer's home and climbed up onto the Hall's roof. She stood beside the three middle-aged men on watch and scanned the horizon. She couldn't see anything strange... Was it a false alarm?

"Where are they?"

The oldest of the men pointed across the horizon, directly north. He passed her a long tube capped with glass lenses on both ends. They called it a spyglass back home, though what it was known as _here_ she couldn't imagine. She held it to her eye and focused her gaze on where the man was pointing. Through the lens of the spyglass everything was magnified. She could make out the details on the Hall's sandstone walls, the needles on a stand of cacti and - far off in the distance - a thick cloud of dust. Bree frowned. It was the sand and dirt kicked up by a large group of fast moving humanoids. In this case, a gnoll tribe on a war march.

A second alarm bell joined their own. It was coming from the south-western hill. The men on watch turned to try to spot the intruders.

Bree stood dumbfounded. The gnolls were coming from the north, not the south! She hadn't missed some, had she? Were they being surrounded?

Bree remembered the spyglass clutched in her hands and held it up to her eye. She scanned the south approach for movement and dust clouds. Where were they coming from?

There!

Bree dropped the spyglass.

No!

It couldn't be! It was too soon.

The men on watch scurried around her feet, trying to salvage the delicate tube. Bree was oblivious to their presence.

A force was approaching from the south. It was a modest group, no more than fifty people strong. They marched straight for Thrice Hills. And they wore the livery of Kelmarane.

A smile crept across her face.

Boden had done it.

Kelmarane had come.


	16. Chapter 16: The Tunnels

The Heartless Dead

Chapter Sixteen

The Tunnels

Bree hurried down off of the Hall's roof and ran straight for Elder Parkeen.

"How do I get down there?" she asked. Her voice was rushed. She was letting her excitement get the best of her. She needed to stay calm.

The old man's smile turned to a look of utter shock. "It's too late, child. The gnolls are coming. The defenses are laid."

Bree scowled. Kelmarane had come at her call. She couldn't leave them outside the town and watch as the gnolls fell upon them! She had to be out there, _with_ them. On the front lines fighting the Al'Chorhaiv. "I'm not asking your permission, Old Man. I'm asking which way to go."

"You don't understand. There is no way down there."

"What?" Bree exclaimed. How could that be? All defenses had a weakness. A blind spot. Something! There _had_ to be one in Thrice Hills!

Parkeen shook his head as if he were reading her thoughts. "We're used to rushing to defend ourselves at a moment's notice. With all the time we've had to prepare we've made the village into a death trap! There _isn't_ a way down there."

"What about the escape tunnels? Is there one that will lead south?"

Elder Parkeen's bronze skin blanched. "Well, yes, but..."

"What?"

"The tunnels all have one way exits to prevent the gnolls from using them against us. You won't be able to come back in."

Bree started towards the Hall's main doors, passing by the outer ring of cacti and the inner picket fence. "I wasn't planning on it."

"But the gnolls are coming! You can't be out there. It's safer in town."

Bree nodded. "I intend to help keep it that way."

Elder Parkeen stumbled over a retort but Bree ignored him and entered the Hall. It was a simple affair made of mudbrick and sandstone, but it's heavy wooden doors were solid, and its walls far thicker than they appeared. The interior consisted of one large room big enough to hold thirty people sitting at one time. It had a series of benches running down its middle, and chairs lining its walls. A door to the side led to a long, narrow room which held a few beds, a desk, a cupboard, and a large pile of urns filled with supplies and foodstuffs.

Bree had been within the Hall on a few occasions, mostly to visit Elder Parkeen and once to speak at a town meeting, but never had she seen it so packed! Almost forty people, all of whom were children or the elderly, milled about the room. Each had a small bag of food and goods upon their back or thrown over their shoulders. They seemed tense, but not afraid. The eldest among their number had a strong sense of resolve in their eyes. Bree admired them their courage. They had lived through countless raids and attacks and no longer feared anything the gnolls could throw at them. Despite their age, they would be strong defenders of the children if the battle turned for the worst.

Elder Parkeen hurried across the room and walked up to one of the mudbrick walls. He moved a few rickety chairs out of the way and ran his hands along the wall in an arc. "The tunnel runs under each hill in a large circle," he said. "Eight tunnels branch off from the circle in straight lines like the spokes on a wheel." He pressed his fingers lightly into the door and slipped them into a groove camouflaged amidst the brick's seams. He dug his fingers into the brick and pulled, causing a section of the wall to pop up and out of the wall. He swung it aside on hidden hinges. Bree arched up an eyebrow in surprise. Even knowing there was a secret passage in the walls, she would never have noticed the entrance. It was impressive craftsmanship, but she had no time to examine it now. Perhaps she would have a chance in the future, after they defeated the Al'Chorhaiv.

"The tunnels continue for three miles in each direction, but have six exits along their lengths." Elder Parkeen continued as he ducked into the wall and descended down a short ladder into a roughly carved room filled with torches, oil, and bags labelled either 'food' or 'medicine.' Bree followed him in a stunned silence. The amount of time and effort it would have taken to complete such a construction through solid stone was unimaginable for such a small village. It must have taken decades to complete! How long had it been here?

Elder Parkeen lit a torch, and pressed it into her hand. He led her out of the room and into a gently curving stone tunnel. The walls were roughly hewn, but the floor was smooth and level. He raised a hand and pointed into the darkness.

"Follow the hallway on it's southern route and take the sixth retreat path. It's just past the next storage room. Ascend the first ladder you come across and you'll surface just outside the canal. If you hurry you'll beat your friends there."

"The sixth path?" Bree confirmed.

Elder Parkeen nodded. "Yes." He placed a hand upon her shoulder. "Are you sure you want to do this, Bree?"

"There's no need to fear, Old Man," she replied with a kind smile. "My Lord Cailean will watch over me."

"Many of us will be watching, child, but that does not mean we will intervene."

Bree smiled. "I hunt gnolls in my free time, Parkeen. It wouldn't kill you to have a _little_ faith in me."

Parkeen nodded. "May Sarenrae's fire ignite your spirit, and Her light guide you safely home."

"Take care, Old Man."

"And you, Bree. And you."

Elder Parkeen shuffled back into the storage room. Bree held her torch aloft and took off at a jog down the tunnel.

Elder Parkeen's voice echoed down the tunnel, chasing after her. "I have faith in you," he said.

Bree smiled.


	17. Chapter 17: The Missing and the Found

The Heartless Dead

Chapter Seventeen

The Missing and the Found

Bree couldn't be sure how far she had run through the curving tunnels beneath Thrice Hills, but it had to have been over a mile. Whatever the case, she made good time. Far better than she would have on the surface.

She followed Elder Parkeen's directions to the exit ladder. A heavy wooden hatch blocked the way to the surface, but it's large handle was well balanced and proved to slide open without difficulty. She pushed the heavy hatch up and out of her way, and crawled out into the blinding sunlight.

She was in the center of a large pile of boulders. A small path wound between the rocks. Bree turned back to the hatch and swung the door back into place. A loud click sounded as she pushed it down. The top of the hatch looked like the surrounding rock and fit seamlessly with the boulder it sprung from. Bree's eyes widened. She felt around the hatch she had closed and found no seams or cracks. She tugged on it, but it did not budge.

Apparently the people of Thrice Hills had a few tricks still hidden up their sleeves. The secretive prudes! And here she had thought them defenseless!

Bree shook her head as a smile crept across her face. She followed the winding path through the boulders. It ended on a promontory looking out over the foothills surrounding Thrice Hills. Thrice Hills lay to the north. It's brown, rocky hills were dotted with glinting spear tips, and wooden barricades. Bree frowned. It was a sad thing, to see such a peaceful place forced to such extreme measures. Perhaps it was best that they hadn't built the palisade walls after all... Could she have even borne to look at Thrice Hills afterwards, knowing its stark beauty had been marred by her hand? Bree sighed. Still, the price of safety was heavy. A wall would have aided them in their current predicament at least.

Bree's gaze drifted across the horizon where the dust clouds lingered. From this view she saw they stretched on for a few miles. Gnolls often travelled in long lines to make their numbers appear larger to any enemies watching their approach, but to leave a dust trail for so long... The Al-Chorhaiv must be a powerful tribe. More powerful than she had thought.

Bree heard the trample of footsteps and ducked back behind the boulder. The footsteps grew louder as they neared. They must be traveling directly below the promontory. Was it the Al'Chorhaiv or Kelmarane? Bree strained her ears. She heard voices. Human voices.

Bree smiled.

She had found the forces from Kelmarane!

Bree stepped out from behind the boulder and looked down upon them. In the front was Dashki and someone Bree didn't recognize. He lad long gray hair and thick weathered skin. His clothes were dirty and patched together from hides and leathers. He had a bow strung over his shoulder and a large bird - a falcon, perhaps - perched upon his forearm.

Directly behind him walked Santon, gleaming in his polished breastplate, and Undrella, who had a vast array of vials and glass jars dangling from her clothing. Kelestair walked behind them in fine red and orange leather armour patterned with sunbursts and fire. Husk loped along at his side and wore a ridiculous, little helmet over his bald, wrinkly head.

After them followed a trail of people in a variety of dress, most of whom wore the red and gold livery of Kelmarane overtop or beneath their armour. It was difficult to make out their identities from above, as they were walking away from her, but Bree thought she saw Kallien among them.

Bree stood proudly atop the stone outcropping and raised her arm to the sky. "Greetings, Kelmarane!" she cried. "Glad you could make it to the party."

The crowd stopped, but few turned arrows towards her. They must have recognized her by voice.

Santon smiled broadly. "Let the lady through."

Bree climbed down from the outcropping and strode through the crowd to the front, where Santon stood waiting for her.

"You came!" Bree squealed in a rather undignified fashion as she came within arm's reach. "I wasn't sure you would!"

Santon wrapped her in a hug. "Of course we came. Even though you're stubborn and should have taken us with you in the first place."

Bree rolled her eyes and let Santon go.

"We will always be there to assist you when you find yourself in need," Kelestair added.

Bree smiled and wrapped Kelestair in a hug as well. He froze at her touch, so she kept it brief. Kelestair had issues with physical contact. She assumed it had something to do with his infernal heritage. Perhaps he had an unloving childhood. Whatever the cause, it certainly ran deep.

"At least Boden made it in time! He gave you my message?"

Kelestair's lips formed a solid line. "Not as such."

"What do you mean?"

"You made the guy run to Kelmarane, Bree," Santon chuckled. "He wasn't exactly talkative upon arrival. Still, Kel managed to get some sense out of him."

Kelestair's lips curled down slightly at the corners. "I _had_ heard you were in trouble."

"So, he's not here?"

"No." Santon replied.

"That's a shame. I liked that big lug."

Santon raised an eyebrow. "Did you now?" he asked slyly.

"He promised to split some gnoll skulls with me..." Bree replied.

"I am sure we'll be able to compensate for his absence," Kelestair commented dryly.

Bree nodded and scanned the army. Tiller stood near the front, in worn leather armour the colour of the surrounding rocks. He bore a series of daggers strapped across his chest and nodded at her as her eyes met his. Utarchus and Kallien lingered nearby as well, though Haleen was nowhere to be seen. She must have been left in charge of Kelmarane's law enforcement while Santon was away.

She spotted Archbanker Oxvard. He was an old comrade of Kelestair's who escaped from Kelmarane back when it was under control of the Kulldis tribe. He had since established a temple to Abadar, the god of cities, law and commerce. Bree found the worship of Abadar both stifling and infuriating. They seemed to have no greater purpose than to keep the population in line and act as moneylenders and bankers. Members of his clergy did nothing for free and were a rather greedy bunch as far as she could tell. How much had Santon offered him to be here?

Father Zastoran had come as well. He was the local cleric of Nethys, god of magics both benevolent and destructive. He was a changeable man, just like his patron. Chatty and friendly one moment, then angry and offensive the next. Bree was was only partly surprised at his presence. Though he was fond of the comforts of his home and not particularly charitable, there were few chances to let off some steam in Kelmarane - at least as far as destructive magic was concerned. Besides, his healing spells would come in handy.

Zym moved through the crowd until she stood directly behind Kelestair. She wore her Junior Protectors uniform, with a massive sunburst pattern stitched overtop in orange. Atop her head was a black curling hairpiece that was at least a foot tall. Why was _she_ here? Bree glared at her but made no comment. It was too late to send her back, and she would be unable to hide inside Thrice Hills now. It was best to let her linger near Kelestair and hope for the best. There was no need to scare the poor kid any more than the coming battle would.

Also among the crowd was a group of twenty soldiers and a ragtag collection of mercenaries and unseasoned thrill-seekers. Near the back of the line, keeping an eye on their retreat were some of the Claisant's. It was Omig and Kaywen, by the looks of it. Omig was a cleric while Kaywen was a holy warrior. They were both dedicated to Cayden Cailean and had met some forty years ago by pure chance when they both attacked the same slaving ring. They were married and had a son whom they named Cobb within a few short years. Cobb was now himself a father of two girls, Mead and Brandy, whom worked as waitresses in Cayden's Hall and were both acolytes. As with all members of the Drunken Lord's faith who were lucky enough to serve in a holy tavern, they also worked as bartenders and waitresses, alongside their father. Their mother, Gwenta, would no doubt be sore she was unable to come protect Thrice Hills, for she was of a more combat minded bent than her husband and daughters. Though, if Tiller, Omig and Kaywen were all here, Gwenta was likely left in charge of the Free House. It would chafe her to be left behind, but Omig and Kaywen were both adventurous souls. Though they were quite old, their blades were sharp and their minds were quick. They were seasoned warriors and freedom fighters, well practiced against the gnolls and, most importantly, strong of faith. Thrice Hills was lucky they had come.

Bree scanned the crowd again, then frowned. "Where's Trevvis?"

"I don't know," Santon said with a shrug.

Bree turned on him with a glare. "You don't know? You didn't ask him to come?"

"We couldn't find him."

Bree froze. Trevvis was a predictable man. Finding him shouldn't have been a problem. "...what do you mean?"

"We looked everywhere. His house, with his old friends, the bar. I even checked the whore house but..."

Bree's eyes turned cold.

"...Not that he'd be _there_, of course..."

"Did something happen to him?" Bree snapped.

"How should I know?"

Bree's eyes narrowed. "What happens in Kelmarane that you _don't_ know about?"  
Santon laughed. Bree balled her hands into fists.

"This is serious, Santon! Trevvis would have come in an instant if he had known! Something must have happened to him!"

"I haven't heard anything," Santon amended.

"But you couldn't find him and you're not worried?"

Santon shrugged. "He probably just hit the bottle again, Bree."

"I've only been gone a week!"

"It's happened before."

Bree scowled. "It _didn't_ happen this time. Did you check under his bed?"

"I don't know! It was Kel I sent to collect him. Go bug him."

Bree turned to face Kelestair. The corners of his lips were turned down into a slight frown.

"I spent more time than I should have on him, but I could not delay our departure. We were needed here. When I left Kelmarane he was nowhere he should have been... I am sorry, Bree."

Bree's anger dissipated. Sadness and a slight melancholy replaced it. "He promised he wouldn't drink again, but if he was nowhere around then - "

Kelestair nodded slowly. "Alcoholism is a sickness. The withdrawal can cause even an honest man to break their word."

Bree frowned. Would he have really turned to the bottle so soon? She hadn't been gone long and he knew the consequences if she returned home to find him drunk again. He wouldn't have given her up so easily, would he? Bree shook her head. "No! Not this time. He promised! He knew this was his last chance and he... He wouldn't have! Something must have happened to him."

"I am sorry to make you worry. I will help you find him when we return home together. After this is all over."

Bree relaxed. There was no reason to take this out on Kelestair. "Thanks," she said. "You're a good friend." She nodded to him and tried to shove her worry for Trevvis aside. What did it matter where Trevvis was if she died here, today?

Kelestair shifted uncomfortably under the compliment. "Yes, well..." He looked down and the corners of his lips tilted downwards. He seemed to be searching for the right words.

"Pay your compliments to someone who knows what to do with them," Santon cut in with a chuckle.

Bree rolled her eyes. "I think you get more than enough compliments."

"Well, I suppose I can just take my war party and go home then."

"Thank you, Sheriff Santon," Bree mocked.

Santon crossed his arms and shifted his weight onto one leg, clearly showing he was unimpressed. "That's it?"

Bree glared back at him.

"You know you owe me, right?"

Bree's frown deepened in response.

Santon sighed dramatically. "Fine, fine. Ungrateful wench."

Bree turned to the troops and raised her arm in the air. "Form up!" she ordered.

"Whoa! Hold it!" Santon exclaimed. He grabbed her by the waist and turned her around, walking a few steps away from the others as they shuffled amongst themselves.

"What?"

"What makes you think you can give my men orders?"

"_You're_ men?!" Bree exclaimed.

"Yes. _My_ men."

Bree rolled her eyes. Did Santon _ever_ stop playing games?

Santon cocked his head to the side as a boyish smile spread across his face. "You think they came out here for you? For Thrice Hills?" He laughed.

Bree scowled. "Enough of this, Santon. Thrice Hills is in danger. Swallow your ego for a bit, yeah?"

"Look, sugar, you're not exactly the most friendly girl in town. I cashed in a lot of favours to get these people here. And I had to pay some of them on top of that! The greedy bastards!" Santon chuckled. "Except for Tiller and the Claisant's. Those saps came here for free..."

Kelestair cleared his throat loudly.

"Oh, and Kel, of course." Santon continued. "I didn't have to bribe him."

"You're joking," Bree said. Surely _some_ of these people had come out of the goodness of their own hearts? For the chance to help out their neighbours? Bree sighed. Who was she kidding? This was a country of merchants and liars! The 'kindest' among their lot would still spend the next day bartering their 'generosity' into better trade agreements.

Santon's expression turned sober. "No, Bree. I'm not. They're not yours to command."

Bree shook her head in disgust. "You're seriously going to let your ego get in the way of protecting Thrice Hills? You don't know this town like I do! You don't know her defenses! You don't know the gnolls or - "

Santon turned and walked away from her, cutting her off mid-tirade.

Bree clenched her hands into tight fists and fumed. The selfish, boorish, egotistical, power-hungry fool! She would give him a piece of her mind! Bree stalked after him.

Santon stood before the troops, puffed out his chest and waved his arm in the air. "Alright, you lot! Bree's going to boss you around now so pay attention!"

Santon glanced back at Bree and winked playfully.

Bree froze, stunned. The troops looked at her expectantly.

Santon laughed. "What's the matter, sugar? Cat got your tongue?"

Bree sighed. _This_ was the help she had held out for?

_Oh, give me patience, my lord Cailean!_

This was going to be a _long_ day...


	18. Chapter 18: The Calm Before the Storm

The Heartless Dead

Chapter Eighteen

The Calm Before the Storm

Bree stood on a wide plateau at the base of al'Harad hill. The river lay to her left, and the foothills of the Brazen Peaks lay both to her right, and straight ahead. It was from in front that she expected the Al'Chorhaiv to attack from. With such large numbers at their command she thought it unlikely they would take the time to circle around. Besides, they wouldn't be expecting too much resistance. Thrice Hills had never had more than guts and arrows to defend itself.

Behind her she could hear the shuffling of her troops, and the chatter from Thrice Hills. She stifled a sigh. Few among those who stood behind her had much training. The soldiers from Kelmarane were a dedicated bunch but hadn't had to fight off more than drunken merchants and the odd sand scorpion. Of the ten that fought on her side of the river, two were fair archers, and so she set them alongside Kallien, in the back. The rest she placed in front of the archers to protect them when the battle turned fierce. She had hoped to put Kallien in charge of them for the course of the battle, but doubted their ability to follow her silent commands during combat. Instead she was forced to place the most senior of the soldiers in charge. His name was Rhox and he had, as far as she could tell, a decent mind for strategy.

The rest of her tiny army was spread out in an arc before the archers and soldiers. She stood in the center, with Tiller directly to her right and Omig and Kaywen Claisant to her left. Beside the Claisant's, alongside the river she had placed the five mercenaries under her command. They said they were part of an adventuring group called the Golden Hand and had been fighting with each other for years. Bree wasn't quite sure why they had decided to name themselves anything, but she was pretty sure 'years' was an exaggeration. None of them looked older than sixteen summers. Still, they did seem to know each others tactics well enough. Perhaps they'd make it out of this if they stuck together.

Beside Tiller, further along the foothills to the east she had placed Kelestair, Husk and Zym. It was a lot of ground to cover, but if she could count on anyone to hold the line alone it was Kelesatir. She had never seen him falter or flinch in combat. He was both brilliant and resolute. She had no worries for him. Who she _did_ have worries for was that blasted kid he insisted on dragging around everywhere with him! What was he thinking?! It was enough that he brought his creepy vulture everywhere, but Zym was an overdressed child! It's too bad she couldn't send her into Thrice Hills. Perhaps once the battle started Zym would have a chance to flee.

The rest of the troops were across the river, under Santon's command. The only other help they would have was from the archers of al'Harad hill itself and _they_ were under Brotis' command. Could she count on Brotis to watch their backs? Last week she was certain all Brotis wanted to do was put a knife in her back, but now... Well, now she _knew_ Brotis wanted to put a knife in her back, but with her _own_ hands. Would that be enough to keep Brotis an attentive commander? Bree sighed. If she knew anything about Brotis, it was that she loved herself more than anything. Brotis would _have_ to defend Thrice Hills in order to defend herself and that was all that really mattered to Bree.

Thrice Hills would endure and the Al'Chorhaiv would die.

The thundering sound of footsteps rumbled down from the Brazen Peaks. The soldiers behind her shuffled nervously. The mercenaries boasted. Husk squawked. Kelestair and Zym made no move. Bree drew the wineskin from her hip and raised it to her lips. Tiller and the Claisant's followed suit.

Bree whispered her prayer aloud to the heavens. "Lend us your luck, my Lord. We're going to need it."

"To freedom!" Tiller cried.

"For the Drunken Lord!" echoed Omig and Kaywen.

Bree replaced the wineskin at her hip and drew _Tempest_. A familiar chill enveloped her arm. It both calmed her and sharpened her senses. She smiled. What had she ever done to deserve a blade such as _Tempest_? The _Dawn of Freedom_ was strapped onto her other arm. It was much bigger than the last time she had used it in combat, but Kelestair was right, the balance and weight were the same as it had always been. Better, even. When had he become such an adept crafter?

Bree smiled at the sunrise design upon its face, made from the fangs of the gnoll-slavers. How many lives had she saved with this shield, while taking the lives of their captors? How many souls hung in the balance today? Many gnolls would meet their end on these hills, but at what cost? How many people's blood would soak the rocks and sand along with them? Would the lost outweigh the saved?

Bree took a deep breath. She would be ready for whatever came at them.

This was it. The time had come.

Cayden's will be done.


	19. Chapter 19: War

The Heartless Dead

Chapter Nineteen

War

Time passed. Sarenrae continued her slow dance across the sky. Howls and yips drifted by on the wind. The thundering rumble of footsteps became a deafening cacophony. The earth itself shook at their coming.

Bree was not afraid.

The same could not be said for her troops.

"Steady!" Bree cried above the tumult. Her words were little help. The tension and fear coming from behind her was palpable. If only she could cut it with Tempest and be done with it! If the gnolls caught wind of their sweat and fear the curs would work themselves into a frenzy.

"Steady!" she cried again.

The gnolls burst forth from the crags of the Brazen Peaks and set their filthy paws upon the foothills to the north of Thrice Hills. A rippling swarm of scorpions scuttled beneath their feet.

"Archers!" Bree screamed. "Nock arrows! Take aim!"

Bree raised her arm to the sky and held it there. She took a deep breath and waited. The gnolls drew closer. Their numbers grew. Larger scorpions crept out from the crags.

Finally, the first of the gnolls came within range. "Fire!" Bree threw her arm forward.

A few arrows arced up into the sky from behind her followed by a thick cloud of arrows from Thrice Hills. The sky darkened, and the arrows tore into the gnolls. Yowls of pain rent across the field. A few gnolls fell, but the rest paid them no heed. Even the wounded kept running straight for Thrice Hills. Where was the Al'Chorhaiv's sense of survival? Were they so scared of their scorpion mistress that they would not back down, or so sure of their heart-devouring pet that they didn't believe they could die?

Another volley of arrows rained down on the gnolls. Over a dozen fell to their knees this time, dead or dying, but far more still surged out from the Brazen Peaks. Fifty living gnolls and over a dozen hyenas now ran across the foothills on either side of the river - the closest of which was nearing a hundred paces away - and there was no end of them in sight. She couldn't even imagine how many scorpions they had at their call. Never had she seen such a thick carpet of insects!

Still, their movements were erratic at best, and frantic at worst. The gnolls and their scorpion slaves surged across the hills in a streaming, clumpy line. They seemed to have no pattern or reason to their formation. Bree shook her head. Gnoll hordes were not the brightest of enemies, but she had imagined that the insidious Al'Chorhaiv would possess _some_ kind of battle strategy. Especially after going to so much work to tame a creature built for war.

Bree raised Tempest to the sky. "The Al'Chorhaiv die this day!" she screamed. "For Thrice Hills!"

Her words were taken up by those behind her, until the hills were ringing with cries.

"For Thrice Hills!"

Bree dashed forwards just as a trio of gnolls came within thirty feet. She crushed scorpions beneath her feet and ran on, heedless of the danger their poison could pose. She swung out with Tempest, slicing the first gnolls neck open from ear to ear, then bashed the second gnoll in the face with her shield. His jaw made a sickening crunch but the _Dawn of Freedom_ absorbed most of the force Bree had expected to feel. Bree felt as if she had merely swatted aside a fly. Tipped tankard! What had Kelestair done to her shield?

The third gnoll dove at her with open jaws. Bree stepped to the side and swung her gleaming scimitar down across the back of its neck. It fell to the ground at her feet with a pitiful wail.

Bree turned to the next set of gnolls, this one a pair with four hyenas running alongside them. An arrow whizzed over her head an embedded itself in one of the hyena's eyes. It fell to the ground in a tumbling heap, knocking another hyena down with it. Bree swung low, taking one of the gnolls out at the knees, and nicking the other in the calf. Tiller dashed in from the side, and stabbed the wounded hyenas in quick succession, while Bree drew Tempest across the throats of the wounded gnolls. Tiller nodded to her, then darted off, seeming to vanish among the rocky ground and hills. Bree moved to finish off the other hyenas, but they had moved on behind her and more were already stalking towards her in their place.

Foul brew! They were just getting started and she had already let some slip by!

A scream sounded from behind her, and a savage tearing. Bree cringed but could spare no time to help the soldiers. Three gnolls, two hyenas and a giant scorpion the size of a wolf moved to surround her. The scorpion was the first to reach her. It's arched, tail surged down at her. She raised her shield above her head, blocking the stinger, then shoved it to the side. She swung down at the scorpion's segmented tail. The scorpion screeched as it's stinger went flying across the field. Bree took the opening and drove Tempest deep into its head. The gnolls swung out at her with claws and blades, but Bree easily held them off. She severed ones paw from its arms, gutted the second, and kicked the third in the face. The two who lived made a run for it, away from her reach. She moved to follow but found herself face to face with their hyenas.

A sickening scream sounded from the river's edge. Bree spared a glance that way to find two of the mercenaries covered with hundreds of tiny scorpions, and a third torn apart by a scorpion the size of a dog. It's claws dripped shreds of skin and innards. The Claisant's were on their way to help, but they would be too late. The other mercenaries were as good as dead. So much for the Golden Hand.

Bree roared in anger and leapt at the hyenas. She swung with abandon, slicing muscle and tearing flesh in her anger.

Kelestair's voice drifted to her over the din. "Hextrassial vamprionus!"

Bree spotted him over her shoulder. Gnoll and hyena corpses littered the ground at his feet. A few wounds upon his arms dripped blood. He held his gore-encrusted mace before him, and clutched a gnoll's face in his other bare hand. The gnoll howled in pain as a black light pulsed up from the gnoll's face and into Kelestair's arm. Kelestair's wounds stopped bleeding and the gnoll fell to the ground, dead.

Husk swooped around Kelestair, diving at the scorpions surrounding them over and over again. He wore a series of blades strapped to his talons which seemed to be doing quite a number on the poisonous little bugs. Zym, much to Bree's surprise, still lived. She stood behind Kelestair, and seemed to be talking to herself. The poor kid must be scared out of her wits!

Kelestair moved to attack another trio of gnolls. No! He moved to attack two of them? Did he not see the third?

Bree made a move towards them but another gnoll dove at her. Broken tankard! She swung at the gnoll, only half paying it any attention and missed. Kelestair swung his mace at two of the gnolls around him, while the third slipped past. He headed straight for Zym.

Zym bore no weapons. She wore no armour.

"Run!" Bree shouted.

But Zym didn't hear her. She just stood there, scared out of her mind, mumbling to herself.

"Zym!" Bree screamed. Jaws clenched down on her thigh. Bree grunted and stabbed Tempest down into the gnoll attached to her leg.

Kelestair finished the other two gnolls off and turned to Zym.

Zym raised her arm and a small beam shot out of her finger. It struck the gnoll running towards her right between the eyes. The gnoll howled in pain, fell to its knees and clutched at its head.

Kelestair nodded once at Zym, then walked calmly up to the gnoll and beat it savagely upon the head. Blood and brain matter sprayed across the field, covering both Zym and Kelestair with dripping gore. The gnoll fell to the ground. Kelestair turned back to the oncoming gnoll army. Zym wiped some of the brain matter from her forehead and smiled.

A shiver ran down Bree's spine. What was _wrong_ with that kid?

Bree pressed a hand to her wounded leg and said a quick prayer. Her wounds frothed closed and she leapt to her feet. She caught sight of the bodies around her, both ally and enemy. The mercenaries were dead along with most of her soldiers. Tiller still danced across the field, and the Claisant's, though Omig appeared wounded. Kallien was the sole archer left on her side of the river, and the supporting fire from Thrice Hills had ceased. They must have intruders of their own to deal with.

And still the Al'Chorhaiv surged forth over the hills.

A gnoll tried to run by Bree, but she sliced his legs out from under him with barely a glance and drove Tempest into his chest. Another nearby gnoll yelped in surprise then turned and ran, only to be stabbed by one of Tiller's daggers. He yanked it out of the gnoll in a gout of blood and vanished again amidst the chaos and carnage.

Bree moved on from one clump of gnolls to another, seeking out her enemies with an emotionless determination. Tempest danced across the field, trailing a glistening line of frost and blood that quickly melted in the heat of the afternoon sun.

This is what they were made for, she and Tempest. What they had found each other for.

Death.


	20. Chapter 20: Prey

The Heartless Dead

Chapter Twenty

Prey

Santon stared down the onrushing gnolls and grit his teeth. They were outnumbered ten to one, at least, and that wasn't even counting the damned scorpions or hyenas. He cast a glance to the skies. Undrella circled overhead dropping vials and potions down onto the scorpion hordes. They exploded upon impact, sending up gouts of thick green and red smoke as they burnt and melted the scorpions into sludge.

"Oxvard, stick with the flank!" Santon ordered. "Zastoran, keep the soldiers standing!"

Oxvard grunted in response and swung his mace out wide, cracking gnoll jaws and teeth. Utarchus and Alkar fought alongside him, swinging falchions and massive hammers in wide, curving arcs. They were wild fighters and had taken many wounds, but Oxvard had managed to keep them relatively whole so far.

Zastoran's angry retort cut across the field. "There are no soldiers left, you reckless dolt!"

Santon scowled. He had known the soldiers and mercenaries wouldn't last long against the Al'Chorhaiv, but they had needed the numbers. Someone had to die out here and he had preferred it wasn't him. "Then keep back with Jamus!"

"I'll show you who needs to keep back!" Zastoran grunted. A gout of flame sprung from his hands, incinerating the oncoming gnolls. They howled in pain and clutched at their faces as fur and flesh melted off of their frames.

"Not bad, old man!" Santon chuckled. He put every ounce of mocking surprise he could into his voice, though in truth, he had known the old cleric more than capable of such spells.

"Not bad?" the old halfling muttered. "Not bad! I'll give you _not bad_!"

Santon smiled as Zastoran lit up the field again, sending a pack of hyenas running, and setting a trio of massive scorpions alight. Zastoran was a stingy man but he was easily motivated through anger. Though Santon knew he needed the old cleric's healing spells kept in reserve, the fighters amongst them needed a bit of a breather. The gnolls hadn't stopped coming and there was no end to them in sight.

Santon cast a measuring glance at what remained of his forces. Jamus hung back behind Santon with his bow sweeping across the field. He had a pile of arrows around him, pillaged from the dead soldiers and gnolls scattered at his feet. He wore a serious expression, but seemed unharmed. Jamus was a hunter to the core, and though the chaos of an all out battle likely unsettled him, he remained focused. The guy seemed to have no fear.

Utarchus was breathing in great heaving gasps. His falchion was gripped tightly in his hands, but his veins bulged and blood soaked chest and neck. Oxvard leaned over him waving around a golden key and chanting in a commanding, monotone voice. A golden light shone from the key and surrounded Utarchus. His wounds closed, and his breathing steadied. Oxvard nodded at him, and turned back to the gnoll army. Santon breathed a sigh of relief. If he let his sister's betrothed die here she would not be pleased. And Haleen was _not_ a woman you wanted angry with you. He'd be lucky to escape with all his limbs attached.

Alkar - a great beast of a man nearly eight feet tall with bulging muscles the size of melons - gripped his massive hammer in both hands. His face and body was covered with blood, though none of it appeared to be his own. He smiled, though with the bits of flesh and fur clinging to his hammer and face it made him appear crazed. Not that Santon found that surprising. Alkar _was_ crazed.

Dashki was hunkered down in a fox hole behind a boulder near the river. He was filthy, and wore the ears of at least sixteen gnolls around his neck as a trophy. He had been leading the mercenaries in ambushes against the Al'Chorhaiv since the battle started, though now only he was left. It mattered little. Dashki worked better alone.

Zastoran looked harried. His robes were filthy and covered with blood, but his mouth was set in a grim line and his eyes burned with anger. He didn't look likely to fall back into his role of medic anytime soon. It was time to placate the man before he wasted all of his energy. The others were read to take on the gnolls once again.

Santon turned his eyes to the battlefield. The Al'Chorhaiv still had them outnumbered, but they were attacking in small, strangely grouped waves. They weren't working together like a pack. It was as if they had no chieftain. Those gnolls who managed to get across the hills and past Santon or Bree's forces either ran straight into Thrice Hills heedless of the traps and defenses or avoided the town all together and ran right past. It was these last ones that worried Santon the most. The deserters.

The gnolls clearly had the advantage over Thrice Hills. With some simple planning they could easily overwhelm the town. And their leader was said to be a cunning foe. She had taken over her tribe through guile and foul magic, not brute force. Surely she had some bigger plan at work than _this_?

So why were some of the gnolls fleeing the battle? Was it a ploy? Were they hoping to lead Santon and his troops away from the town? Maybe they weren't fleeing, but circling around in order to surround them...

Santon frowned. No. That wasn't it. They looked _scared_. More than scared. They looked _terrified_...

Something wasn't right.

"Jamus! Dashki! To me!"

Dashki left his cover and ran to Santon's side. Jamus stepped forward and let his bow fall silent.

Santon pointed at the deserters. "What are they doing?"

"They flee." Jamus stated.

Dashki shook his head. "It is not in the Al'Chorhaiv's nature to flee!" he roared. "They still command the upper hand! It must be an ambush!"

Jamus shook his head. "No. Do you not see their posture? Can you not smell their fear? They are on the run."

"Never!" Dashki shouted in outrage.

"They are prey," Jamus retorted calmly.

"Prey?" Santon asked.

Jamus nodded.

"So what's hunting them?"

Jamus cocked his head to the side in a rare show of surprise. "The predator," he stated, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

A predator? Santon frowned. A gnoll tribe was just like Kelmarane, or any other human settlement. Together they had no major predator, but they could be killed by many different creatures if they were encountered in small numbers. So what had such a large group of gnolls running for the hills? What _hunted_ gnolls? Bree. But other than her...? Santon suppressed a sigh. He could think of nothing.

Santon scanned the horizon. He saw scorpions of all shapes and sizes, hyenas, as well as gnolls and flinds. No sign of anything strange. No massive dragons or hydras. No thundering herd of aurochs. No flock of harpies. No brush fires.

A massive scorpion the size of a wagon burst from the crags of the Brazen Peaks. It was opalescent and had red designs scrawled all over its carapace. Atop it rode a gnoll bitch armoured in chitin plates.

Santon raised an eyebrow. That had to be Ahrikvask, Chieftain of the Al'Chorhaiv. Dashki had told him plenty of tales about her. Oh, how he longed to fight her one on one! Or one on two, if he counted her rather impressive looking mount. But now was not the time. If she had taken the field than the Al'Chorhaiv's numbers must be dwindling. So where was the -

"There." Jamus said. He raised his finger and pointed to a black shape on the horizon. It was far away. Very far. Little more than a smudge in the sky. But it grew in size with startling speed. Whatever it was it was moving fast.

Santon froze. A shiver trailed its way down his spine.

He had a _bad_ feeling about this.


	21. Chapter 21: Ahrikvask

The Heartless Dead

Chapter Twenty-one

Ahrikvask

Gnolls and hyenas had fallen to Bree and her blade by the dozens, but still the Al'Chorhaiv poured out of the Brazen Peaks. Just how many of them _were_ there? Bree had no idea they would have such numbers at their command. They must have been picking up survivors from the tribes Bree had killed this past year.

Bree dashed forward with Tempest's glowing blade barred, cutting a path of carnage across the field. A gnoll fell back with a howl of pain, but another six gnolls skirted around her. She moved to follow but a small pack of hyenas closed the gap first. They snapped at her frantically.

"Tipped tankard!" Bree cursed. She took a step back to prevent the hyenas from surrounding her and cast a worried glance over her shoulder. Thrice Hills still stood, but gnolls, hyenas, and scorpions of all sizes swarmed over her slopes. The archers on al'Harad hill had turned their attention to the attackers, and seemed to be holding out alright. For now. They would soon be overrun if Bree couldn't stop the flow of reinforcements.

A hyena lunged for her throat but Bree raised the Dawn of Freedom and batted the beast out of the way. It crashed into a pile of scorpions who quickly swarmed overtop of him. The scorpions began to sting and the hyena howled in pain. The other hyenas backed off a pace so Bree took the opportunity to lunge forward with Tempest. She cut one hyena across the throat, the swung wide at the other two. They backed off further, giving Bree a chance to scan the rest of the field.

Kallien stood with her back to the river and her bow drawn. On the other side of the river, mirroring her position exactly, was Jamus. They fired continually into the battle in opposite directions, dropping gnolls and hyenas with every arrow loosed. Neither of them made a sound.

Kelestair, Zym and Husk still stood exactly where Bree had placed them at the start of the battle. They hadn't given up a pace of ground. Few gnolls seemed to have gotten past them, though there was little they could do to stop those who went around. They currently were engaged with a group of large scorpions and two flinds who wielded massive axes.

Tiller was nowhere to be seen, though that wasn't surprising. The little fellow seemed to vanish and reappear with every passing breeze. Wherever he was, Bree was sure he was being useful.

Far off in the distance, she spotted Omig and Kaywen. She scowled. What were they doing so far from town? They were needed _here_.

A growl alerted Bree to another attack. She swung Tempest, cutting the hyena in the face, and then quickly turned her attention back to the Claisant's.

They stood face to face with a massive opalescent scorpion. Crude, red paintings covered its outer carapace, likely drawn in blood. Atop it rode a gnoll armored with the bodies of scorpions fitted together into plates.

Ahrikvask had taken the field! Bree frowned. Though it was a relief to finally see the Al'Chorhaiv's chieftain, the Claisant's were under strict orders to stay close to Thrice Hills. By leaving their half of the field open the gnolls were easily slipping past Bree's defenses. There was no choice. Bree had to pull what remained of her troops back, closer to the canals surrounding al'Harad hill. Perhaps then they could stop any more reinforcements from getting into the town.

"Fall back to the canals!" Bree shouted. She began backpedaling, but watched the field to make sure everyone had heard her. Kallien started edging her way along the river's edge and Jamus, though he was on the other side of the river and under Santon's command, followed suit. Apparently the two of them had finally found someone capable enough to watch their backs.

Kelestair led Zym and Husk in a brisk retreat before standing firm at the canal's edge. Kelestair took one glance at the field and spread the three of them out along its length. Bree smiled. He knew exactly what she had been thinking. Bree and Kallien reached the edge of the canal just as Tiller appeared. He smiled at her in a lopsided fashion. Blood was speckled over his messy black hair.

"Hold the line!" Bree yelled. The Al'Chorhaiv's forces quickly passed through the gap left by Bree's ordered retreat. Combat broke out all along the canal. Three flinds charged at Bree with morningstars and maces hefted high. She sliced Tempest across the first flind's stomache twice, bashed his comrade in the chest with her shield and the rammed the hilt of her scimitar into the third's face. The first flind howled in pain and backed off, but the second swung his morningstar in a wide arc. Bree raised the Dawn of Freedom into the way and readied herself for the impact. The flind had muscles the size of her head and with all the momentum he was putting into the blow she would likely come away from this with a broken bone. The morningstar crashed into her shield. Wood splintered. Bree flinched and grit her teeth.

She felt no pain.

The Dawn of Freedom was whole and her arm was unharmed, but the flind's morningstar had broken along the shaft. The flind and Bree gaped at each other for a moment before Bree bashed him in the face with her shield. The flind dropped to the ground in a heap. Bree slashed Tempest across his throat then turned to the third flind who had staggered back and was clutching at his eyes. Bree strode forward, but Tiller appeared from behind the flind and stabbed him in the back. The flind fell to the ground and Tiller smiled.

"You see Omig and Kaywen?" he asked.

Bree nodded and bashed a hyena out of the way with her shield. "They're too far out."

Tiller laughed. "You _wish_ you were with them! Sweet barleybrew, _I_ wish I was with them!" He vanished behind a massive scorpion then reappeared to Bree's left. His dagger was impaled in it's face. "What I wouldn't do to be the one to give Ahrikvask what's coming to her."

Bree chuckled. "They don't need our help. They've been killing gnolls since before we were born." She sliced Tempest across the hyena's neck and then across it's gnoll handler's.

"Since before _you_ were born. I'm not as young as I - " Tiller paused mid-sentence and stopped moving.

"Tiller?" Bree asked over her shoulder. She booted a scorpion in the face and the sliced off it's stinger.

"No," he breathed.

Bree's blood ran cold. She turned to find Tiller staring across the field in horror. Bree followed his gaze to where Ahrikvask and the Claisant's fought. She saw Ahrikvask atop her scorpion mount, and Kaywen fighting alongside it. Kaywen's face was twisted into a mask of pure hatred. She was screaming. Bree did not see Omig.

"No!" Tiller screamed.

Bree reached for him, but Tiller ducked under a flind's wild mace swing, tumbled over a hyena and vanished amidst the approaching gnolls.

"Tipped tankard!" Bree cursed. She swung Tempest with abandon, slicing tendons and severing arteries with each swing. All around her the gnolls fell in a shower of crystalline blood. Bree glanced across the field. Kaywen thrust at the scorpion with her rapier, driving it up to its hilt into the beast's side. She pulled back, tearing her rapier from the scorpion. Ahrikvask threw a javelin at Kaywen. It sailed through the air, straight for Kaywen's chest. Tiller appeared from the crowd and pushed Kaywen out of the way. They fell to the ground in a tangled heap. The javelin struck a nearby gnoll. The scorpion struggled forward with its claws snapping. Tiller rolled out of the way and Kaywen stumbled to her feet. The scorpion swept her up in its claw and squeezed. There was an explosion of blood, and then Kaywen was sliced in two. Her torso and legs fell to the ground in pieces.

"NO!" Bree screamed.

"Hold the line!" Kelestair yelled. "Think of Thrice Hills!"

Bree ran across the field swinging Tempest and screaming at the top of her lungs.

"Bree!" Kelestair called. "BREE!"

But Bree wasn't listening. She was gone.

_Kaywen_ was gone.

Kaywen, who had taught her everything she knew about the Brazen Peaks, and the gnolls. Kaywen, who had helped her. Mentored her. Fought alongside her. They had prayed together, partied together, saved lives together.

Distantly, Bree heard Kelestair shouting, but she paid him no mind. She saw only blood and gore and the broken tattered remains of one of her dearest friends.

Kaywen was _dead_ and Omig was likely dead.

Ahrikvask would _pay_. If it was the last thing Bree did she would make sure that filthy, gnoll bitch died screaming in agony. Her pets would die, her tribe would die, her peryton weapon would die and her entire life's work would be shattered beneath Bree's heel. She would spit on the cur's broken corpse and feed it to the vultures in pieces. She would... She would...

She would _kill_ her.

Horribly.

By the time Bree arrived at the far end of the field she had left a trail of corpses in her wake. The blood of her enemies soaked her clothes and matted her hair. Tempest was covered in a thick red slush of frozen blood.

"Die!" Tiller screamed. He appeared behind the scorpion and drove his daggers into its side. Ichor poured from the wound, but the scorpion still moved. It spun around and drove its stinger towards Tiller, but he rolled underneath the creature and was lost among the corpses and rocks.

"Ahrikvask!" Bree shouted. The gnoll turned to look at her, but Bree didn't wait for acknowledgement. She sprang forward, slicing and hacking wildly with Tempest and bashing with the Dawn of Freedom. The scorpion turned towards her. It moved clumsily, but was still a far cry from incapacitated. It snapped at her with its claws and then lunged with its stinger, but Bree managed to duck and dodge out of the way. Ahrikvask drew a javelin and let it fly. Bree spun to the side, but the scorpion snapped at her with its claw. Bree tried to twist out of the way, but she was too slow. She managed to get the Dawn of Freedom up enough to turn the blow to the side, but even just a graze from the claw sliced deep into her skin. Blood poured from Bree's arm. She pressed her hand against the wound to pray for it to close, but the scorpions other claw snapped at her. Bree threw herself to the ground. The claw sliced through empty air. Bree's arm continued to bleed.

"Foul brew!" she cursed. She scurried beneath the scorpion just as its massive stinger struck the ground she had been standing on. The scorpion above her spun around and Bree wound up to the beast's right. She raised Tempest to slice at the scorpions legs before she noticed Ahrikvask was ready for her. Their eyes met. Ahrikvask smiled. She held a javelin in her furry hand and had it aimed right at Bree's heart. Bree's momentum drove Tempest to cut clean through on of the scorpion's legs, but she had no time to move. Ahrikvask tensed and threw her javelin.

Tiller appeared from behind the gnoll bitch and drove himself into her, sending them both flying from the scorpion and onto the rocky ground.

The javelin tore through Bree's armour and flesh. She stumbled back a step in stunned silence. A warm liquid spread its way across her midsection. She didn't have to look to know it was blood. Her mind clouded and then the pain hit. Bree clutched at her stomache and bit her lip to keep from crying out.

The scorpion stumbled back from her, dripping fluids from the ragged stump that remained of its leg. Bree would have to be quick.

She took the shaft of the javelin in her hands, grit her teeth and pulled. She screamed and a thick gout of blood surged from the wound along with the javelin. Bree pressed her hands against the gaping hole in her abdomen and prayed. She heard voices and the clinking of mugs. A rich barley-beer filled her mouth and she swallowed. It was strong but she felt weak. Dizzy. She tried to move, but she only managed to stumble around like a drunk. She swooned.

Bree opened her eyes and found herself on the blood soaked earth outside Thrice Hills. A massive, bloody scorpion loomed over her. It's stinger sped towards her face.

Bree rolled backwards and pushed herself up to her feet. The stinger struck the ground where she had been laying. Bree righted herself and the scorpion snapped at her with its claws. She stepped back once, and then again, only managing to just stay out of the reach of the scorpion. She backpedaled faster, but the scorpion pressed on, snapping and thrusting viciously. Bree cursed.

She could hear Tiller and Ahrikvask fighting somewhere nearby. Tiller's breathing was laboured. Ahrikvask yipped something over the din and Tiller roared in response. She heard the clanging sound of metal upon metal and then a grunt of pain. A canine laughter followed.

Bree scowled. Tiller was in trouble. He needed her help, but the scorpion had yet to pause in its attacks. It would tire eventually, but that wouldn't help Tiller. Bree needed an opening and she needed it now. Even a single moment would allow her to fight back and regain the offensive.

Something hit the back of Bree's legs and she stumbled. She fell backwards, landing hard on her back in a pile of hyena and gnoll corpses. The scorpions stinger drew back, then surged forwards, straight for Bree. Her eyes widened.

This was it.

The end.

What a boring way to die.

An arrow with red fletching struck the scorpion in the face, followed by two more in quick succession. The scorpion let out a shrill screech and stumbled back.

Bree rolled forward and leaped at the scorpion blade first, plunging Tempest through its head and into its torso. She screamed and wriggled the blade around, slicing the scorpion's head open horizontally and tearing Tempest loose. A burst of foul smelling black ichor soaked Bree's clothes. She stumbled back and cast a look across the field to Kallien.

Kallien had her back to Bree and was fighting off a pack of six hyenas. The arrows in her quiver were brown and white. Bree's eyes widened in confusion. Kallien couldn't have shot the scorpion. Who did she owe her life to?

Bree scanned the field. She spotted a person standing atop a building on al'Harad hill. They held a bow in their hands. Their arrows were fletched with red feathers. They nodded at her once and then turned back to Thrice Hills.

It was Brotis.

Bree frowned. She would never live this down.

Ahrikvask yelped in pain.

Bree ran around the scorpion's corpse. Ahrikvask sat slumped on the ground with her back pressed up against the scorpion's side. A series of bleeding stab wounds ran across the length of her lower chest. Blood dribbled from her mouth and she clutched a javelin loosely in her hands. She would be unable to throw it from her position. She was defenseless.

Bree stepped towards her with Tempest, but Tiller stumbled forwards. "No," he grunted, "She's mine." Blood coursed down his shoulder from a deep puncture wound. He was pale and looked woozy. He had obviously lost a lot of blood.

"Tiller, let me heal your - "

"No!" he yelled. He narrowed his red-rimmed eyes in hate. "She dies _now_!" Tiller dashed forwards so fast Bree lost sight of him. She heard flesh tearing. Blood welled up and someone choked on their own blood.

Tiller had driven his dagger deep into Ahrikvask's eye socket. She was clearly dead, but had managed to prop up her javelin. Tiller was impaled upon it. He coughed and blood poured from his mouth.

Bree screamed.

She dashed to Tillers side and gently pulled him off of the javelin. His eyes rolled about in his head. Blood gushed from him in large spurts with each beat of his heart. Bree pressed her hands against his chest and prayed.

Nothing happened. She was too drained to connect with her god.

Bree cursed.

"Tiller," she choked. "I won't let you die. You can't! Not you too!"

She clutched his small body to her chest and hugged him tightly. She patted his hair.

She couldn't lose Tiller.

Not here.

Not like this.

"Please," she begged, "Please, My Lord! Not him! _Please_."

A weak drop of power coursed through her. She forced it down into Tiller. The power flowed for a moment, then trickled to a stop like an empty keg. It wasn't enough. Not _nearly_ enough. Bree's eyes welled up with tears. She blinked them away and sniffed.

"Hang on, Tiller," she said firmly, "I'll get help and - "

A final burst of breath left his mouth. He went limp and heavy in her arms.

"No," Bree wailed. She placed his hand over his heart and waited with baited breath. It did not beat. Tears traced their way across her filthy, blood-stained face in thick, hot streaks. She clutched Tiller's body tightly to her chest and rocked back and forth. Her shoulders and back shook, wracked with sobs.

How could she go on without him? How would Kelmarane? How could she tell the people at the Free House that she had failed the man who had taken care of them? How could she go back to Kelmarane at all knowing that she had let the most noble and selfless of its citizens die at the hands of _her_? That _filth_! _Ahrikvask_!

Bree placed Tiller on the ground reverently and stalked over to Ahrikvask's corpse. The corners of her canine snout were tilted up in a cruel smirk. Bree roared in fury and kicked the gnoll's corpse in the face. It tumbled over onto the jagged rocks. Bree pulled back and kicked it again, with all her might. Ahrikvask's corpse rolled onto it's back, and Bree shrieked down at her smug-looking face.

How _dare_ she smile!

How _dare_ she take him!

Bree lifted her foot and stomped down on Ahrikvask's face again and again, letting out all her anger. All her rage. All her fear and sadness and pity until Ahrikvask's head was little more than a smear of red paste studded with shards of bone spread across the rocky earth.

Bree felt empty. Hollow.

Dead.

A voice reached her over the din of the battlefield.

Bree blinked. The screams of the dead and dying assaulted her ears. The blood and fur around her came back into focus. She was surrounded by corpses.

Why was she standing still? Why wasn't she fighting?

"Regroup!" a voice was yelling. "Regroup!"

Kelestair.

Bree wiped a hand across her tear stained face, looked once more at Tiller's corpse and took a deep breath.

"I'll come back for you," she whispered. "Our work isn't done yet."


	22. Chapter 22: Letting Go

The Heartless Dead

Chapter Twenty-two

Letting Go

Bree scanned the battlefield. Though there were still a good deal of gnolls both on the field and in Thrice Hills, they were starting to flee. Most of their number who raced across the fields ran right around the hills that led to the village, and some of those within were making their way over the defenses on the far side of the hills. Bree's lips formed into a cruel mockery of a smile. They must have noticed Ahrikvask's death. The cowards.

Bree felt a sudden apprehension. Her palms went clammy and sweat formed on her brow. She shrugged the feeling off, and forced her fear down. She looked around and caught sight of a figure in the skies. It was a large, black, winged beast.

The peryton. The _weapon_.

Bree squinted, in an effort to make out more details on the beast, but couldn't. It was too far away. Still, the aura of fear it leaked must be incredibly strong to affect her from so far away. No wonder that poor man from Thrice Hills went mad.

The perytons arrival didn't bode well for them. Its presence would work the gnolls into a frenzy! Their retreat would turn into a fresh assault. Bree frowned and turned back to the battle field.

The gnolls had noticed the peryton, but weren't regrouping as Bree had assumed. They weren't even holding their ground. Almost all of them were fleeing without any regard to their surroundings or safety. They ran in a straight line either through, or around Thrice Hills, away from the fight. They didn't even slow to defend themselves! Many were cut down by the people of Thrice Hills. A terrified yipping filled the air.

Bree gaped in confusion.

Why would the Al'Chorhaiv run? Their war-beast had finally arrived. Why weren't they encouraged? Did it only answer to Ahrikvask?

Bree heard Kelestair's voice rise over the chaos. "Leave the gnolls! Regroup!"

She turned to find him commanding Kallien and the people of Thrice Hills. They seemed to be listening to him, for they let the gnolls around them slip away without fighting.

"Froth and foam!" Bree cursed. What was Kelestair thinking? They were down to the last barrel! This was their chance to end the Al'Chorhaiv! To end the predations on Thrice Hills for good! To avenge Tiller and the Claisants!

Bree drew Tempest and stalked across the field killing every gnoll she came across with a quick flick of her blade. None of them fought back.

She caught up with Kelestair at the top of al'Harad hill.

"What the hell are you doing?!" she yelled.

"The beast is not a weapon, Bree. The gnolls are fleeing from it."

"That doesn't explain why you're _letting_ them."

"I do not condone the murder of those who have quit the field."

"They've been killing the people of Thrice Hills for generations! This is our chance for revenge!"

Kelestair's eyebrow rose. "_Our_ chance?"

"They killed the Claisants!" Bree spat. "And... Tiller."

"That was Ahrikvask, not the entirety of the gnoll race. She is dead. Your revenge has been achieved."

"The gnolls must pay!"

Kelestair's eyes hardened. "No, Bree! They are running away and you will _let_ them."

Bree's eyes widened. Kelestair never raised his voice to her. He was always in control of his emotions. It was Bree who was always yelling. "You're just going to let them get away with everything they've done?"

"No. Those who run will be caught. They can be redeemed."

"And if they don't want to be?"

"They will spend a good deal of time behind bars."

Bree shook her head. "This doesn't feel right, Kelestair."

Kelestair's eyes softened. "I know. But you must trust me when I tell you that the gnolls are no longer the threat. They were fleeing from the peryton, not training it."

Bree sighed. Behind Kelestair she caught sight of Husk, Zym and a flind with bright red eyes and white fur. He was on his knees behind Kelestair and had placed his weapons on the ground before him.

"Not a threat?" Bree laughed without mirth. "Did your _prisoner_ tell you that?"

"He has surrendered," Kelestair stated.

"Gnolls don't surrender, they just delay their dinner for a few hours."

"He will prove useful."

Bree scoffed.

Kelestair pursed his lips into a solid line. "He is not your concern."

Bree scowled. "You're new _dog_ has been lying to you. If the gnolls have been fleeing from the peryton then why would they attack Thrice Hills?"

"Perhaps it was not an attack. Perhaps they simply hoped to distract the creature with easier prey."

"By throwing Thrice Hills to the wolves?"

"You could call it that."

Bree paused. As much as she hated to admit it, what Kelestair said made some sense. Most of the gnolls were fleeing to the sides of Thrice Hills or leaving it behind entirely. It also explained the mottled attack formations, poor battle strategy and the lack of focus.

Bree had seen Ahrikvask in action. She was a powerful bitch, and rumoured to be cunning. The gnolls could have easily overrun the town if they had been commanded by her, but they hadn't. Bree sighed. Their reasoning didn't matter. The gnolls attacked Thrice Hills and led a powerful beast to their door. They deserved to die.

"Please, Bree," Kelestair pleaded. "Trust me. The peryton is the enemy. This... heartless killer. We need to adjust our tactics."

Bree scowled. After a moment she nodded. "Signal Undrella."

Kelestair beckoned for Husk. The cantankerous vulture loped away with him. Kelestair spoke to a bird in a language Bree didn't recognize. His voice was husky and deep. Calming.

Bree took a deep breath. Kelestair was right. They could deal with the Al'Chorhaiv later. Right now they needed to kill the peryton.

"Kallien!" Bree called. "Retreat to the hill, but be ready. We'll need your arrows when the peryton takes to the skies. You and Brotis can command the town's archers from there."

Kallien nodded and headed off up the hill.

"Zym," Bree continued. "Get back to town."

"I can assist you," Zym replied through tightly pursed lips. She was obviously trying very hard to be civil.

"Get back to town," Bree repeated. She glanced to Santon's half of the river. Utarchus and Zastoran were making a cautious trek up Nehaya Hill and into Thrice Hills. Jamus stood at the base of the hill, by where the river connected to the canals. He had his bow in hand and was collecting extra arrows from the dead. Dashki was hunkered down behind a large boulder and had his own bow drawn and ready. Undrella circled lazily overhead. Santon was following Husk across the field. It looked like he was coming to join her and Kelestair. She didn't see Alkar, Oxvard, or any of the soldiers and mercenaries. Had they all died?

"I am not yours to command," Zym argued. "I am Kelestair's ward and I will stay by his side."

Bree frowned. She didn't have time to spare the kids feelings. "Get back to Thrice Hills, _now_."

Zym's tight voice came out a shrill cry. "You will not order me from my Father's side! I will stay with him until he commands me otherwise!"

"Your _father_ is in Kelmarane. Where you should be."

Zym's eyes narrowed in hatred. "That _man_ is _not_ my father."

Bree's resolve wavered for a moment. She knew enough about poor father figures to last a lifetime. No wonder Zym was so protective of Kelestair. But, father issues or not, Zym wasn't safe outside town. "Look, kid. I don't have time to argue with you. Get back to Thrice Hills."

"_You_ will not take him from me!" Zym spat. "I will not leave his - "

"Manners, Zym," Kelestair cut in. "And what have I said about restraint?"

Zym clamped her mouth shut, biting off her own words. "But, she just - "

"She will not be the last to test you, Zym. That is why you must learn restraint. And mind your manners."

"But - "

"At all times."

Zym nodded stiffly.

"Return to Thrice Hills," Kelestair said.

"But - "

Kelestair's eyes narrowed. Zym nodded and turned to leave. Kelestair barked something to the flind, who rose to follow her. Finally, Kelestair turned and locked eyes with Bree. He looked almost... mad. No. He was disappointed in her.

"What?" She asked. "It was her fault for - "

Kelestair's eyes narrowed.

Bree sighed. "You should really keep your pet away from - "

His eyes turned sad.

Bree growled. Why did he have to make her feel so guilty? It was his fault! If he didn't drag that creepy, maddening kid everywhere he went this wouldn't have had to happen.

"I wish you would learn to get along," Kelestair said softly. "It would mean... " He paused, seeming to search for the right words. "I would..." He paused again.

"Don't you two have more important things to worry about?" Santon cut in. "Like the giant bird of death hoping to devour our hearts? Or where we're going to mount its head?"

Bree smiled. "I've always got room on the Dawn of Freedom for more teeth."

"Birds don't have teeth," Santon pointed out.

"It's not a bird, it's a peryton," Bree retorted. She paused a moment, then leaned over to Kelestair and whispered into his ear. "Do peryton's have teeth?"

Kelestair nodded.

"Well, that's a relief. I don't have room for a beak on my shield."

Santon burst out laughing.

"Quiet," Kelestair hissed. "It comes."


	23. Chapter 23: The Peryton

The Heartless Dead

Chapter Twenty-three

The Peryton

The peryton was bigger than Bree had imagined. The beast itself was around six paces tall, but it's wingspan was almost thirty paces in length. Bree had never seen a bird so big! It had the neck, forelegs, and chest of a large stag, but the plumage, wings and hindquarters of a giant, black eagle. Its head was that of a slavering wolf. Its talons were the size of daggers and atop its head was a massive rack of sharp, black antlers. From various parts of its body burst insectile features. The stag-like hooves on its front legs were broken and hung at an unnatural angle. Giant claws, like those of a scorpion, had burst forth in their place. A curled, tail topped with a stinger had grown from its backside, and chitinous plates stuck out from beneath its feathers at random intervals. The plates were black as pitch, but shone in a shifting rainbow of colours in the sunlight. Mandibles jutted out from its lupine cheeks and curved around the front of its jaw. The shadow it cast was shaped like a man.

Kelestair needn't have warned them to be quiet. The peryton's presence scared everyone into silence.

For a moment, at least.

Then all hell broke loose.

A chorus of terrified screams shattered the silence. The people of Thrice Hills ran as fast as they could away from the peryton. They paid no mind to their surroundings or direction, so long as it was away. They trampled each other and many ran straight into the very traps they had set. It was a slaughter, and the peryton hadn't so much as made a move.

The sight of the peryton filled Bree with feelings of menace and terror so strong she nearly fell to her knees. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes and forced her emotions down as far and as deeply as she could. Now was not the time for fear. Now was the time to fight.

The peryton was intercepted in the skies by Undrella who threw vials at the creature. They shattered upon its chitin plates in bursts of acid and flame. The peryton let out a roar that sounded like the anguished screams of a group of men dying in agony. The ghoulish cries chilled Bree to the core. The peryton swooped towards Undrella, tearing at her with its talons and snapping at her with its claws. She pressed her wings to her side and dove straight down, before careening up into the sky again. The peryton kept pace with her. Undrella spun in the air, and threw a handful of vials into the peryton's face. Another tortured scream rent the air. Bree clutched at her chest. It felt as if her very soul was being drawn to the peryton's cries. She gasped for breath.

She rose her shivering hand to the sky. "Archers!" she screamed.

Nothing happened. She had expected the people of Thrice Hills to panic, but where were her trained archers? She searched behind her desperately. Kallien had curled herself into a ball and was cowering at the top of the hill. Brotis was nowhere to be seen. Dashki had turned and was running across the field. Only Jamus still stood. He had an arrow notched on his bow, and was aiming at the peryton, but had not fired. His arms shook uncontrollably and he seemed to have trouble looking at the creature. Bree's terror inched its way to the surface.

Undrella was clearly outmatched. Bree needed the archers to help her, but they had all run away! Froth and foam! How could this have happened?

"Easy," Kelestair said. "Do not give in to your panic. It is an aura of fear shed by the peryton. Keep your wits about you."

Bree nodded. How could he be so calm?

"Undrella needs us," Santon said through tightly gritted teeth, "And our archers fled like cowards. I need a bow."

"No, Santon. Even a well trained archer could strike Undrella by accident. Best to wait for her to drive the beast to ground."

High above them, Undrella wavered. Her vials and bombs had barely slowed the peryton down, while its claws and talons had clearly wounded her greatly. She was slowing, and her flight had become erratic.

"She's not going to drive it to ground, Kel! She's going to die!"

"If you try firing at them, you will kill her."

Santon growled in frustration. "Jamus! Take a shot!"

"He's scared!" Bree yelled. Panic crept into her voice.

They all should be scared.

"Jamus!" Santon shouted.

Jamus set his jaw and let an arrow fly. It went wide and missed both of them. He fumbled as he drew another arrow, scattering his quiver of arrows across the rocks.

The peryton dove at Undrella. She swerved, but took a hit from one of its antlers across her torso. A burst of blood filled the air, and then Undrella went plummeting down to the earth.

"Undrella!" Santon screamed.

The peryton turned its head, searching for the source of the sound. It's eyes locked on Santon. Santon drew his greatsword and beckoned it forward. "Over here you ugly bird! I'll rip those horns from your head!"

The peryton banked to the right, putting it on course for Santon.

Jamus fired an arrow. It struck the peryton in the chest, but didn't seem to bother it. He fired again anyway.

Bree and Kelestair ran to Santon's side. They would need to work together.

As the peryton neared, the screams from Thrice Hills grew more frantic. A slow, creeping terror welled up in Bree and she had the overwhelming urge to scream. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and pressed a hand to the copper tankard dangling at her hip.

"Lend me your courage my Lord," she prayed. "Let me stand my ground when lesser men would flee."

The peryton swooped overhead once, causing its shadow to fall over them.

Bree's hands began to shake. She heard crying from behind her. Jamus had fallen to his knees and had tears pooling down his face.

"Be strong!" Kelestair said firmly. "Do not fall to despair." He placed his hand upon Santon and Bree's shoulders and spoke in a commanding voice. "Sestorious lesahownem! Kestral hest moones!" Bree felt a pulse of energy go through her. She felt tougher. Stronger. More powerful. Kelestair removed his hand.

Bree took a deep breath. Together, they could do this.

The peryton finished its wide circle, then swooped down and landed right in front of them. It screamed, though it sounded different from before. It's cry was less human and more... unearthly. Insectile. Its shadow wavered and shifted, changing from the shape of a man into that of a strange, winged scorpion.

Jamus threw his bow to the ground and fled into Thrice Hills.

"You hurt my woman!" Santon roared at the peryton. He lunged forward with his massive sword. "Die!"

Bree raced in right behind Santon but Santon fell to his knees and clutched at his head. Bree struck him and fell to the ground, cracking her shoulder on the ground and twisting her ankle.

Bree struggled to her feet with a groan.

"Enfabastious vesral!" Kelestair shouted. A sickly looking beam struck the peryton.

The peryton flapped it's massive wings. A strange, multi-coloured, shimmer trailed along the it's feathers. Bree felt a wave of panic wash over her. She clutched Tempest tighter. She wouldn't give in to fear! Not now! Not ever! If she could stand firm against Xulthos, a daemon from Abaddon, then she could fight a peryton without fear!

"Not again," Santon mumbled to himself. "Not again."

Kelestair moved into melee with the peryton, swinging his mace. Each of his blows connected with a heavy thud.

Bree hobbled back a step to check on Santon. She reached down to touch his shoulder and he hacked at her with his sword.

"Not again!" Santon roared.

Bree shrieked in surprise and limped back. "Santon, it's me!"

Santon roared. He locked eyes with her, and then swung again.

"Froth and foam!" Bree shouted. She staggered back as quickly as her ankle allowed. She knew to keep Santon at a distance from the last time he had turned on her and -

Bree froze.

Xulthos.

Santon swung his blade and Bree ducked. He swung again and she dodged backwards.

Last year Xulthos had controlled Santon and made him attack her. His wings and carapace had shimmered like a rainbow when he moved. He used fear, terror and confusion as his weapons. He had looked like an evil, otherworldly scorpion.

Bree caught sight of the peryton's strange, insectile shadow. At Xulthos' shadow.

Santon swung his sword at her and she rolled to the side. Pain lanced through her ankle, but she grit her teeth and came up with both feet firmly on the ground.

How had Xulthos' powers ended up inside a peryton? They had killed Xulthos, hadn't they?

Bree frowned. It didn't matter.

The peryton would die and, if Xulthos was inside it somewhere, he would die _again_.

"Santon!" Bree shouted. "Fight back! Don't let Xulthos control you! You're better than that! You beat him before!"

Santon reeled back as if he had been struck. He dropped his sword and fell to his knees. He pressed his hands to his head and screamed. "Get out of my head!"

"Fight!" Bree yelled.

Santon grabbed his greatsword, hopped to his feet and lunged at the peryton. "NEVER AGAIN!" he roared.

The peryton knocked the sword aside with a claw then roared in rage, right in Santon's face. Its eyes flickered between the bright orange of a predator, and the reflective, black of Xulthos. Kelestair struck the peryton in its segmented tail, causing it to shriek, and back up a few paces.

Bree spared a glance at Kelestair. He looked heavily wounded, though he had more tears and rips in his clothing than there were wounds. He looked tired, but not in danger of dying.

The peryton looked in worse shape. One of its claws had rotted off. What remained stunk like death. It also had a series of puncture wounds along its chest, as if it had been clawed by large talons. Bree smiled in grim satisfaction. Kelestair had a way of turning his wounds back onto his opponent with magic and if Kelestair alone could inflict this much damage on the peryton, it didn't stand a chance against the three of them together.

Bree took a clumsy lunge forward and slashed Tempest across the soft looking flesh on the peryton's side. Blood spurted from the wound. Kelestair smashed its hind foot with his mace and Santon hacked its other claw clean off with his massive sword. The peryton roared and staggered back. Santon drove his blade forward, but the peryton quickly flapped its wings and took to the skies.

"Come back, you coward!" Santon screamed.

"Stand down," Kelestair ordered.

"We can't let it get away," Bree argued.

"It is not fleeing," Kelestair replied. "Just changing tactics."

"What?"

"Down!"

Bree dropped to the ground. The peryton swooped by her head and clenched its talons, missing her by a hairsbreadth. She climbed to her feet, but the peryton had already looped back around. Bree dove out of the way, but the beasts talons tore right through her armour. She screamed in agony. The peryton clutched at her and took hold of her in its claws. Bree was lifted off the ground, but Kelestair and Santon managed to nick it as it passed. It's grip loosened and Bree squirmed loose.

She screamed as she fell twenty feet to the rocky ground. The collision knocked the breath out of her and forced her shield arm out of it's socket. Blood poured from her abdomen and a great aching spread its way up her back. She paled and suddenly felt woozy. Cayden's curse! It must have hit her kidneys. Without her healing powers a wound like this would kill her. Quickly.

"Find cover," Santon yelled. "Drive it to ground!"

The peryton swooped low over Kelestair and Santon just as Bree struggled up onto her feet. Her legs wobbled beneath her and her ankle threatened to give out at the slightest pressure. She hobbled to the nearest rock and threw her shoulder against it. Agony lanced up her arm, but her shoulder popped back into place.

The peryton swooped for Santon and Kelestair again. They threw themselves to the ground, but Santon took the peryton's talons across his back. He screamed and blood gushed from the wounds. If the peryton kept this up, they would be dead in a matter of minutes.

Santon and Kelestair rushed forward, continuing on to a large boulder. Bree hobbled after them in a daze. She would soon pass out from blood loss and Kelestair lacked the ability to heal others. She was as good as dead. If she was going to do anything else to help her friends, now was the time. Bree cast her mind around feebly, clutching at any thought or plan. Her mind was jumbled and she had trouble concentrating. She couldn't think of anything that wouldn't end with her death. Still, she _might_ be able to make her death mean something.

As Kelestair and Santon took shelter under a boulder Bree climbed up on top of it. She unstrapped the Dawn of Freedom from her arm and dropped it to the ground. She clutched Tempest tightly in one hand and waved her other arm above her. Pain lanced down her sides. She clenched her teeth together tightly. Spots entered her vision. She tried to blink them away, but it only made the world around her start to spin. She would soon black out. She was running out of time.

"Over here!" She screamed. "I'm the one you want!"

The peryton swooped down at her with its talons out.

"No!" shouted Santon.

"Run!" yelled Kelestair.

Bree didn't move. She had only thought of one plan to kill the peryton and to say it was madness was an understatement. Still, it was all she had. She wouldn't die without a fight.

The peryton neared.

Bree waited until it was almost upon her, then launched herself up, along the rock and into the air. The peryton clutched at empty space and Bree landed upon its back with a thud. She clung to the chitinous plates along it's spine with one hand, and wrapped her legs around the peryton's ribs.

The peryton shrieked in surprise and turned up sharply. It climbed higher and higher. Bree cursed and hung on tight. She had seen birds of prey caught in a similar situation a few times before. The peryton was flying up as high as it could, before trying to shake her off so she'd plummet to her death.

The wind whistled past her, causing her hair to fly behind her like a pennant. She had an urge to hang on for dear life, but knew it was useless. Already her grip was slipping. If she didn't pass out from blood loss she'd slip off shortly.

Bree shifted her weight towards the right and raised Tempest in the air. She slashed down to where the peryton's wings connected to its back. Blood spurted from the wound and the peryton screamed. Bree slashed Tempest across its wing again, and again. Feathers, blood and bits of flesh were blown away in the wind. The peryton climbed higher and spiraled in the air. Bree clung onto its back with her legs and arm. She dragged Tempest across the gaping wound, sawing back and forth with all she had. It was tough work. Tempest was a blade made for light slashes and cuts, not sawing through flesh and bone. The peryton spiralled faster and Bree almost lost her grip. She hung on for a moment, regained her purchase and sliced Tempest across the wing with all her remaining strength. Bone gave way beneath her blade. Flesh tore. The peryton gave a pained scream as its wing was severed from its body.

The world spun uncontrollably. With only one wing the peryton's flight was out of control. They were both careening to their deaths. The ground got bigger. Closer.

Bree smiled.

This was a death she could be proud of.

A death _worth_ dying.

Cayden's will be done.


	24. Chapter 24: Visions of a Dying Man

The Heartless Dead

Chapter Twenty-four

Visions of a Dying Man

Omig Claisant had never been a drinker. He had _had_ drinks, of course. Plenty of them. There was no escaping ones spirits as a cleric of the Drunken Lord. But he didn't enjoy it. He didn't revel in it. His god's holy libations were wasted on him. He had a weak stomache. Always had. Where a fellow member of his faith could drink down alcohol as fast as they breathed - and faster! - without feeling a wee bit tipsy, Omig turned positively green after a sip of watered down ale.

He never joined drinking competitions. Never played the Cayden's Dare. Never gambled. Never caroused. If not for the tin tankard at his hip and rapier in his hand, one would be hard pressed to identify him as a follower of the Drunken Lord at all.

But Omig had not become a cleric of Cayden Cailean for a party and a hearty mug in his hand. He hadn't entered the clergy for fun and flirty words. He had joined for one reason, and one reason only. To free slaves.

All of them.

And so he had left the churches and bars of his god behind to roam the deserts with nothing but a rapier and good intentions. He found little success, at first, for he was only one man, and poorly trained with a blade. Cayden Cailean had blessed him with neither spells nor skills.

But, one fateful slave raid a woman changed all of that. She stormed the same slave caravan he had prepared to ambush with a blade that burned with righteous fury, and healed the slaves with a touch of her hands. She was a paladin. A holy warrior blessed by Cayden Cailean himself. Omig could barely keep up. He felt small next to her. Insignificant. Like a child pretending at being a hero.

She inspired him. Welcomed him. Loved him.

His Kaywen. His light.

He threw himself into his faith with renewed zeal. He studied the Placards of Wisdom, practiced his holy prayers and focused his mind until he was able to use the holy energies leaking off of his beloved Kaywen, in order to cast divine healing magic of his own.

They married. Had children. Welcomed grandchildren. Mentored students. Preached.

But always, they fought slavery. Always, they prayed. And always, they were together. For alone, Omig was nothing but a man with a sword.

At Bree's call they had come to Thrice Hills to fight the Al'Chohaiv. The battle had started off well. They were outnumbered, of course, but that was nothing new to them. Omig had been outnumbered from the moment he set foot in Katapesh.

He and Kaywen fought side by side, working in unison to both attack and defend. When one of them was wounded the other was always ready with a healing spell. When one of them grew tired, the other bolstered their spirits. And when one of them let their guard down, the other covered their weak spots. Their hearts and swords moved as one.

Until Ahrikvask.

The moment she took the field Kaywen began cutting a path toward her. Omig had warned her they were leaving formation, but she had pressed on and he had followed.

They came upon the gnoll queen and her mount and fought bravely. They drove the scorpion halfway to death's door and had defended each other from all of Ahrikvask's attacks. The fight was theirs.

And then Omig felt a sharp pain on his calf. It lasted only an instant, then passed as quickly as it had come. An itchiness quickly spread up his leg and he broke out in a cold sweat. He had been stung by a scorpion.

Omig squashed the creature beneath his heel, but knew without a doubt that it would kill him. If he couldn't hold his liquor, there was no way he could resist the venom from one of Ahrikvask's scorpions. He was a dead man walking. His breath quickened. His heart pumped faster.

Omig tried to keep up with his wife's fluid movements, but he faltered. His sword arm got caught up beneath his wife's elbow just as she moved it backwards. The mistake did little to hamper her, but the damage was done. Omig and Kaywen hadn't made a mistake in combat in decades. He couldn't hide it. She would know something was seriously wrong. His weakness would distract her and when she realized it was something she couldn't fix or pray away she would do something incredibly stupid.

Saliva welled up in Omig's mouth and his breathing turned into a ragged wheeze. Kaywen's eyes met his own. He opened his mouth to tell her he loved her but a thick foam dribbled out. Kaywen's eyes widened in horror. Behind her, the scorpion's stinger surged down. "Down!" he tried to cry, but his tongue was thick and heavy in his mouth. He threw Kaywen to the side. The massive stinger tore right through his shoulder, leaving his left arm a useless, dangling mass. Kaywen screamed. He fell.

The sounds of combat continued unabated. Sword piercing flesh. An insectile shriek of pain. He tried to follow the movements around him, but his vision blurred. He blinked in an effort to force his eyes to focus. He needed to keep himself together for as long as he could. Kaywen would soon get wounded and he would be there to heal her until his last breath.

He forced his eyes to focus, but found they wandered without his consent. He saw a gnoll's tail, then a hyena's mouth and finally a spot of blood on a rock before his eyes drifted onto his wife. She was wounded and screaming in rage.

Omig threw his good arm out before him and began to drag himself across the rocks to her side. His ragged arm caught painfully on the surrounding rocks, but then stopped hurting altogether. Not a good sign. His eyes wandered off of his wife, though he tried as hard as he could to focus on her. He inched his way closer to her and caught sight of Tiller out of the corner of his eye. An intense pain lanced through his chest and the leg in which he had been stung began to twitch uncontrollably.

Tiller screamed something. His wife let out a strangled cry. Omig's eyes caught sight of her just as the Ahrikvask's scorpion snatched her up in it's claws and sliced her in two. Blood and bits of flesh exploded out of her, soaking Omig's face and back. Tears welled in his eyes mixing with what was left of his _wife_. A bloody smear across his face. The pain in Omig's chest travelled down to his abdomen. His stomache clenched and he vomited all over the rocks. He forced his eyes open, but all he saw was red. Blood clouded his vision. He dragged himself to where he had last seen Kaywen and clutched at whatever pieces of her he found splattered amongst the rocks.

Wracked with pain and dying in the remains of his beloved wife, Omig stopped struggling and cried. He grew tired and then cold. The pain in his chest and abdomen lessened.

A scream brought him back to his surroundings. It was Bree. She was shouting something. Crying. Screaming.

He forced his heavy head to move and saw Bree walking away from the corpse of Ahrikvask. She said something softly to Tiller and then left.

Omig tried to move, but found he had lost feeling below his hips. His legs would no longer listen to him, if he even had them anymore.

"Tiller," he tried to croak, but his tongue wouldn't work.

Tiller lay still. Unmoving.

Omig dragged himself over to Tiller one agonizing inch at a time. He reached out to shake Tiller awake, but knew as soon as he touched Tiller's arm that he was dead. Would no one he loved make it through this day? Would Cayden Cailean let them all die?

Like _this_?

No.

Cayden Cailean might have left them for dead, but Omig would _not_.

There was nothing he could do for his wife, but Tiller would _live_.

Omig pressed his hand to his wife's blood which still coated his face. He thought of her brown eyes. Her smile. The way her head cocked to the side when she found something particularly funny. Her laugh.

He had never cast a healing spell without her. He wasn't about to start now.

He pressed his bloody palm against Tiller's chest and prayed.

Not to Cayden Cailean. Not to his wife. Not to any god.

He prayed for Tiller.

He prayed for _life_.

Omig had never brought a man back from the dead. He had never stopped to consider that only the most pious of clerics and paladins blessed by their gods have ever achieved such a miracle. But, then, Omig didn't think at all.

He simply saw his wife's smiling face, and prayed.

Beneath his palm, Tiller's heart began to beat, just as Omig's began to slow. Omig tried to smile, but his lips wouldn't move. His breathing slowed. His vision blurred until the world was a riot of smudged colours and glowing lights.

A black cloud that screamed like the damned soared overhead. It's cries drew the colours from the world around it into it's shadowy form. It left an evil aura in its wake that stunk like rot.

He heard people scream. Thrice Hills. Bree. Sheriff Synger. Dr. Kelestair. Omig would have screamed himself, had his voice not been lost to him. Only Tiller was unaffected by the sky demon's presence. He continued his slow breathing unaware of the peryton above.

Omig watched helplessly as the peryton's black form was ridden into the skies by a burning white light. It was an aura he knew. Bree.

The black in the sky began to spin and spiral like a desert twister, but the light was not dislodged. It's glow brightened, until it trailed a frothing white ripple in its wake. The black cloud diminished, and lots bits of itself, before plummeting down to the earth.

Omig watched in horror as the peryton and Bree fell hundreds and hundreds of feet. Their impact shook the ground beneath him and sent up a cloud of dust and rock that obscured all sight.

Omig felt ill. No one could have survived that fall.

Bree was the saviour and founder of Kelmarane. Her protector. Her hope.

Bree was dead.

Omig had saved the wrong person.

An insectile scream tore across the battlefield. The black light drifted up from the crater its impact had made on the earth and formed itself into a massive winged scorpion.

"Freedom!" it shrieked.

Omig felt terror like he had never known wash over him. A demon had crawled from the wrecked corpse of the peryton.

An unholy aura that stunk of brimstone and roared with black fire stalked across the rocky earth towards the demon.

"You dare show your face after killing her?!" the devil spat.

The demon laughed. "Her death was just the beginning, devil-spawn. I will devour her soul!"

"Her soul is not _yours_ to take, Xulthos!"

The demon laughed. "Nor yours."

The black fire around the devil flashed dangerously.

"I know your soul, devil! You wish to possess the paladin as much as I," the demon taunted.

Omig's heart slowed. His panted and gulped for more air. He couldn't die now! Evil was fighting over Bree's very soul! He was too late to save her life, but he had to usher her into the arms of the Drunken Lord!

"Her soul belongs to none," the devil bellowed. "But _your_ soul. Your soul belongs to _me_."

Xulthos laughed.

The devil raised his arms. He spoke in infernal whispers then pointed at the demon. A black ray shot from his fingertip and surrounded the demon in a ring of hellfire.

"No!" the demon shrieked. "I am Xulthos! I am corruption made flesh! I am - "

"Mine!" The devil bellowed. The fire rushed inwards, engulfing the demon, and then shrunk further, compressing the demon until it was a tiny pin-point of red light. The devil walked up to the dot of light and picked it up. It glimmered like a jewel between his fingers. "This is your punishment for taking her perfection from this world," he said to the gem. "I hope you enjoy your new accommodations. You will never taste freedom again."

A human shaped green glow walked up behind the devil. "Where is she?" he asked. Omig recognized his voice as belonging to Santon.

"Gone," the devil rasped.

"Find her," Santon replied. He seemed unafraid of the devil before him and spoke as if he knew him. Santon and the devil stepped into the crater.

Omig's heart faltered. He gasped for air. He heard rocks being moved.

"She's alive," the devil cried. His voice evened out, and his black aura shrunk until it was little more than a faint smudge against the sky.

"But how?" Santon asked.

"She shouldn't have survived the fall. Her body is broken and twisted but... she lives. Praise Sarenrae! She lives!"

"Help her, Kel!"

By the light of the Starstone! That devil lurked within Kelestair? Omig gasped for air, but his body would not breathe. He was suffocating.

No! He couldn't die yet! He had to warn Bree that Kelestair's soul was as tainted as his appearance! She thought that devil her friend, but all he wanted was her blessed soul for himself.

"Fetch the healers, Santon!" Kelestair rasped. "She has more wounds than mundane healing can handle and my magic isn't suited to this task."

"Everyone has fled! Make your magic work!"

"My magic twists and contorts. It reanimates and kills. It does _not_ heal. Fetch the healers. _Now_."

"Which ones?"

"All of them. She'll need them _all_."

Omig reached out to Bree but his arm wouldn't move. He tried to speak, but his mouth wouldn't work. Black spots entered his vision and then blocked out the colours swirling around him. In the moments before the scorpion venom finally claimed his life, Omig prayed more fervently than he had ever prayed before.

He prayed not for his wife, whose blood coated his face and hands. Nor for his children and grandchildren back home in Kelmarane. Not even for Tiller, who had visited the land of the dead and returned. And certainly not for himself.

Omig Claisant died praying for Bree's immortal soul.

_May Cayden Cailean protect her from the devil in her midst._


	25. Chapter 25: The Hall of the Drunken Lord

The Heartless Dead

Chapter Twenty-five

The Hall of the Drunken Lord

Bree was happier than she had ever been.

She sat on a comfortable bench at a long oaken table. It's top was worn smooth from use. Hundreds of similar tables filled the immense tavern to bursting. Friends, both old and new, sat alongside her. Tiller, Omig and Kaywen sat on her right, while Norn sat on her left. They smiled and chatted happily. Bree held a crystal glass filled with with the most exquisite white wine she had ever tasted. The smell alone was divine! Like joy and nostalgia mixed in a cup.

The patrons around her all drank and sang happily. No one fought. No one argued. The entire hall was filled with joyous, rowdy, exuberant faces. There was an overflow of laughter, song, dance, love and booze. Bree was in the most perfect place she could imagine.

There was nowhere else she would rather be.

And then _He_ walked by.

His hair was the colour of the oaken tabletops surrounding them, and His eyes were the colour of ripe wheat. He was athletic and lithe. Strong and supple. His smile made a warmth spread through her body. His voice was smooth and sweet as honey. Joyful and unrestrained. When His eyes met her own it was as if the rest of the room faded away, and there was only _Him._ When she held His gaze she swore that she knew Him, but the moment He tilted His head away, to speak to someone else, she knew that she must have been mistaken. She had never known a man so perfect. Surely she would remember Him.

Eventually the the man strutted off and Bree was left with her comrades and her wine and her joy. Bree sang and danced as only the unburdened can. She laughed and smiled as if she were young and innocent.

And then He would return - the man named Cayden. And He would meet her eyes, and smile and ask her to dance and she would feel joy and love and understanding the likes of which she had never known. She was happier here, at the Eternal Revel in Cayden's Hall, than she had ever been in life.

Back on the mortal plane, in the little town of Thrice Hills that used to mean the world to her, Bree's body sat unmoving. Surrounded by healers and clerics and friends, Bree's broken body knit itself back together. It healed until her heart beat strong and steady inside her chest and her breaths came slow and easy.

In Thrice Hills, Bree's body healed.

But her soul?

Her soul stayed with the dead.


	26. Chapter 26: The Last al-Harad

The Heartless Dead

Chapter Twenty-six

The Last al-Harad

"How is she?" Elder Parkeen asked gently.

Santon grimaced. "Fine."

"That is good, is it not?"

"It's the problem!" Santon exclaimed. "She's perfectly fine. The healers and clerics have been working non-stop for weeks and they've run out of wounds to heal. She's alive and healthy, but she's still not waking up."

Elder Parkeen nodded. "She will return."

Santon scowled. "What if she doesn't want to?"

Elder Parkeen raised a craggy old eyebrow and Santon continued.

"She's a woman of faith, right? Devoted to her god and all that. Doesn't that mean she's hanging out in some kind of drunken afterlife with a bunch of other holy dead guys? What if she's up there, partying without me, and has decided to let this place - let us - go? Isn't that what's supposed to happen when the pious die? They have such a great time that all their troubles and their lives just... fall away?"

"Calm yourself, Sheriff. You are correct, in part. In death we are judged by Pharasma and sent to where we will spend eternity. The pious go to the home of their gods, the good to a place of their liking and the evil to a foul one. I have no doubt that Bree's afterlife will be a place of joy and... freely flowing libations, but you have forgotten that she is not, in fact, dead."

"But what if she did die, for a moment?"

"Even if her soul has found it's way to Cayden's Hall, if her body still lives, her Lord will ensure she returns to us."

"Don't treat me like a child, old man. I know there are people who don't wake up from comas."

Elder Parkeen smiled. "And you think her god would allow her to abandon her tasks upon this plane? You think _she_ would allow it?"

For the first time in weeks, Santon smiled. "No, I don't."

"Neither do I," Elder Parkeen chuckled. After a moment he paused. His breathing sped up and sweat formed on his brow.

"Out with it, old man. I'm not in the mood for foreplay."

Elder Parkeen smiled. "I hear you are returning home, Sheriff."

"You heard right. We're bringing Bree along. Kelestair has some tests he wants to run on her back at the hospital."

"Then I am glad I caught you before you left. I have something I want to show you, but I have been waiting for a more... opportune time."

Santon cocked an eyebrow. "I'm listening."

"Walk with me."

Santon followed Elder Parkeen out of Thrice Hills and downhill to a long, open ridge. A row of thin, spiny trees grew atop it in a long line. The first few trees were nearly a fifty feet tall, but they grew progressively shorter further along the ridge. Beneath each of the trees was a large stone marker covered with writing, dates and names.

"Is this a graveyard?" Santon asked.

"Of a sort. The graveyard is at the bottom of the ridge. This is a memorial for the greatest amongst us. Our founders, great leaders and heroes are honoured here. We plant a tree for each of them, and raise a stone monument upon which their stories are recorded."

A boyish grin spread across Santon's face. "It's a little early for you to offer me a stone. I'm not dead yet."

Elder Parkeen smiled gently. "Let me tell you a story that I believe you will find enlightening."

Santon smirked. "Is it boring?"  
Elder Parkeen's smile did not waver. He spoke in an even, warm tone. "Eleven years ago Thrice Hills was a dangerous place. Kelmarane had fallen to its own corruption nearly a decade beforehand and had become a meeting place for unaffiliated gnolls. None of our other neighbours remained in the area. All that was left in the Brazen Peaks was our tiny village and gnoll territory."

"Tell me you didn't drag me out here for a history lesson."

Elder Parkeen continued as if Santon had not spoken. "There were far more gnoll tribes in those days, but they were smaller and fought amongst themselves often. Our warriors did their best to protect ourselves and keep our village a safe place, but we were always the target of one tribe or another. Casualties and captives were common."

Santon suppressed a frown. He wasn't in the mood to hear another sob story before they asked him for _more_ protection and _more_ aid. Hadn't he given them enough?

"We had a Sheriff back then," Elder Parkeen said. "His name was Lakar ak-Harad. He had a beautiful wife, but she was wild and often joined him in arms in order to protect our people. Her name was Aisha. They had a child together - a boy - but that didn't slow her down. Lakar and Aisha could always be counted on to defend us. And they did. Until their dying breath."

"In the late fall of that year we received word that an ambitious flind known as Ur-Kul had banded the gnolls together in order to take Thrice Hills."

Santon suppressed a shudder. The name evoked an ominous feeling in the pit of his stomache. Elder Parkeen either didn't notice his discomfort or didn't care.

"Ur-kul hoped that this would be the largest successful slave raid in his lifetime, and it would earn him enough prestige to found his own tribe large enough to rival the one he had been cast out of. Lakar and Aisha got to work immediately, preparing the town's defenses and escape routes. They fought on the front lines alongside our warriors and archers. Under their command our warriors took down all but three of the gnolls, though we suffered the heaviest casualties in our history." Elder Parkeen paused and cleared his throat. "In the end, Lakar and Aisha faced off against Ur-kul and his most dangerous fighters. Despite their best efforts, Ur-kul killed them. They were the last of our warriors to fall. We were defenseless."

"At the sight of his parents dying, Lakar and Aisha's son ran to their side. Ur-kul dragged him off of the bodies of his parents and clamped him in irons. He was just a young boy. Four years old."

Santon frowned. This story was starting to sound familiar. Had Bree told it to him once before? He didn't recall it having a happy ending.

"Ur-kul's surviving followers moved into town and began to collect the most frightened among our number. With our warriors gone there was no one to protect us. We surrendered, so as not to die. We all did. All but the child. He fought. He bit and kicked and clawed. Ur-kul hit the child again and again, but he would not surrender. A child proved to be the bravest amongst us." Elder Parkeen shook his head.

Santon's palms grew clammy. His shoulders tensed.

"At the sight of the child fighting back despite his pain and grief the people of Thrice Hills changed. Though we were weak and knew many of us would die, we fought against the gnolls. We managed to free ourselves and kill our captors, but Ur-kul fled with the child. We tried to follow him, but all of our trackers had died. The gnoll lost us easily."

"We buried Lakar and Aisha in the cemetery and left an empty plot beside them, for their son. We hoped that if he died it would draw him home. We planted a tree for Lakar and Aisha, and named our most treasured hill after them. They were the bravest and brightest amongst us. We promised the position of Sheriff to the next one of us who could carry on Lakar and Aisha's legacy, but the position has remained empty this past decade."

"The child received his own monument. A tree and stone next to his parents. He taught us the most valuable lesson in out history. No matter our size, or strength, or training, anyone can fight. Anyone can stand up for themselves. Anyone can make a difference. And everyone should." Elder Parkeen paused, and then sighed. "We failed that child. Failed him so completely that it has haunted our dreams for years. I still have nightmares of his screams. The torments he must have been put through. All because we found our courage too late."

Santon's throat tightened. He shifted uncomfortably. "Why are you telling me this?"

"The child's name was Santon."

Santon froze. He tried to force his face into a casual smirk, but his jaw wouldn't loosen. "There's a lot of Santon's in the world, old man."

"He had golden-brown eyes, just like yours, and black hair."

"Congratulations. You've just described the entire populace of Katapesh."

"He had a boyish, lopsided smile and perfect white teeth. His nose was..." Elder Parkeen faltered. His chin shuddered and his lip quivered. He fought to hold his emotions in, but failed. "By Sarenrae's Light, you look just like your father!"

"I... I have a father," Santon managed to stutter. "Back home in Katapesh."

Elder Parkeen smiled through his tears. "Yes, yes. I've heard he's a wealthy merchant."

Santon's composure broke. "I have never been a slave!"

"A fact to which I'm sure your lovely _sister_ can attest. You don't look much alike."

"I'm not - "

Elder Parkeen waved his hand in the air. "I just wanted you to know how much you and your parents meant to us. I wanted you to hear their story. _Your_ story. I owe your parents that much, at least. And mostly, I..." Elder Parkeen's voice cracked. "I wanted to let you know how sorry I am. How sorry we all are. We should have saved you. No matter the cost."

Santon took a deep breath. If word that the Sheriff of Kelmarane was an ex-slave got out, the Pactmaster's of Katapesh would have ample reason to take control of the town from him. Parkeen's story was dangerous. "The boy, you mean. You should have saved the boy."

Elder Parkeen sniffed deeply and rubbed his eyes. He smiled. "No one here will say a thing. We take care of our own."

"It's a little late for that," Santon spat.

"A fact I would change if I could, my boy."

Santon grit his teeth, but nodded.

"I'll leave you now, to be alone with your thoughts," Elder Parkeen whispered. He turned and walked away.

Santon watched him go.

Elder Parkeen stopped at the edge of the ridge, but did not look back. "If you ever want to come home, we'd be honoured to have you take over as Sheriff."

"Santon al-Harad is dead, old man. He died in dirt alongside his parents, feeling angry and alone."

"I understand."

Santon sighed. "But, if he _were_ alive today, I think he would forgive you."

Elder Parkeen looked up at Santon with hopeful, red-rimmed eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, but thought better of it. He smiled. "Your parents would be proud of you. I know we are."

A lump formed in Santon's throat. Elder Parkeen had no idea what Santon had done in his short life. He had no idea what he was capable of. If he knew... If _they_ knew, would they still be proud?

Elder Parkeen turned and walked back up the hill to Thrice Hills.

Santon relaxed his shoulders and let the tension leave him. He placed his hands upon the monument stones for the al-Harad's. He traced his fingers over their names. He read about their lives and achievements. He studied their stories until the sun set and he could no longer see the letters engraved upon the stone's surface.

It was the closest he could remember being to his parents.


End file.
